A storm is coming.As I sat on the porch this evening puffing on my pipe and
enjoying the sounds of the birds, I thought I heard the rumble of far off thunder. I could smell the ozone in the air, its crisp scent overpowering the more familiar smells: the freshly cut grass, the last of the Texas Mountain Laurel blossoms, the vanilla cherry tobacco smoke.
The sky above and before me is a bright blue, wisps of clouds floating far far over my head. As I stand up and leave the cover of the porch, I notice that the sky behind me is not blue, but rather, it is dark and ominous. There are flashes of lightning illuminating the bank of dark clouds from within, the source of the deep rumbling.
The rumbling continues, growing in volume and frequency, the deep throbs pounding against my ears like base drums beaten by a drummer in a marching band. As I watch, the last of the blue sky is overwhelmed by the swiftly encroaching darkness. The air turns cooler, moister, heavier. Before I know it, the rain begins to fall.
I wasn't ready for this. Several windows are open; I was letting the house air out. The barbeque pit still has a few pieces of meat in it, the coals now getting wet, the drops of water washing off the carefully applied barbeque sauce. My Boston Terrier is still in the backyard; she was getting her daily exercise by chasing after squirrels and blackbirds, all come to steal the food form her bowl.
Rushing inside, I close the windows before too much water has had a chance to make its way inside, open the back door to let my unhappy and wet dog back in the house, and pull the meat off the fire.
I am now sitting in the den, listening to the rain patter against the roof, watching the water run down the street and into the drain. And it occurs to me.
Isn't this what so many people experience everyday? We go about our daily existence. We enjoy the fruits of our labors, the company of our friends and family, looking up towards the bright sky. And while we remain unaware, dark clouds gather, sneaking up on us from the
rear, drenching us in misfortune. Suddenly we have to rush around to protect what we have, what we've worked hard to buy, to give shelter to those we care about. The unexpected hits hard and fast. But then it moves on. Perhaps there is lasting damage. Perhaps everything was saved. Either way, the storm has passed, as all storms do.
A storm is coming. Are you ready?
