Cleanse
Observations of a Summer Storm
After a long summer drought, we were finally getting some rain.
Unfortunately, the water we so desperately needed was brought on by hurricane/tropical storm Debby. Not to be confused with Debbie. They retired her years ago, as they do when a hurricane doesn’t behave herself. If I could do the research and find her story on the internet I would, but after a night of strong winds and rain (as well as a tornado warning), I am left with no internet.
I slept on the couch most of the night.
Not because of Debby, but because of another strong force of nature that often comes from the East — my husband’s snoring. When he left for work at barely the crack of dawn, I did a drunk-walk back to the bed. I didn’t wake until 9:30, when the dogs were letting me know they were restless with their loud shaking and scratching and pacing. Even though I’m on a teacher’s summer, it felt weird sleeping that late, but the sun did not peek through the rustic, woven shades to wake me, and there was no reason for an alarm.
As I stepped outside with the dogs, it looked like the grass had grown for the first time. Most of it had turned to brown, but today it looked as though someone had dipped a wet paintbrush across the landscape, turning most of the brown into green. And there was a pleasant breeze. And when we walked, instead of the sound we had become accustomed to (crunch, crunch, crunch), there was a squish, squash, squish, as my boots stuck to the ground. Which reminded me of the children’s book, Going on a Bear Hunt, and the wonderful words the author used to describe the different sounds. Squelch, squerch, squelch is my favorite, when describing the sounds of walking through the mud.
And as I squish, squash, squished, I took in everything around me — the grasses, the trees, the houses in our little hamlet. And off in the distance, a small family of deer was grazing, reaping the benefits from the storm. And everything looked so . . . refreshed.
It was the cleansing the earth had been waiting for.
