Monday, July 18, 2011


David had already left for his early morning work out at the gym when I awoke to a house dark and deathly hot. Surprised, with the clock reporting not yet 5:30, I stumbled downstairs to open some windows. There was an eerie
feeling about the place. With windows opened and little else to do, I went back to bed.
Within moments the world was whirling. Rain was pelting and veranda
furniture was on the move. Pirate, never one to miss an opportunity to snatch what is forbidden, leapt trembling on to my bed and dug his paws into my
breast bone as the first brilliant flashes consumed the sky. With the walls vibrating in a thunderous massage, Mark came out of his house, closely followed by Kitty, to report
that the heat had awakened him to a sky of brilliant orange that lasted about a minute before the storm hit. Lawrence, displaying a family solidarity reserved
for the few seconds before and after an event of doom, rushed up the stairs to evaluate and commiserate.
The sleepy radio morning crew took up their Monday post. Ignoring the forecast in hand they resorted to reporting that something cataclysmic was going on downtown. They'd get the updated weather report later, they promised. They were shaken, but willing.
A reluctant Monday began to take shape. Rain filled the barrels depleted by yesterday’s watering. The phone rang. By 7:20 I had turned down two offers of a ride to work. The sky was clearing. The tempest had moved on. The trees were dripping. The edges were muddy on the path up the hill. At the office we gathered, each with our own story of awakening.
The sun is out now. The pavement is steming. The air is sweating. We are left with the memory of a surprise, the drama, the unmistakeable reminder that the world is an uncertain place. It is impossible to deny the magnetic power that draws people together in the wake of an unanticipated Monday morning storm, and that is a good thing.

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