The warnings came first, and Andy hastened to move our precious pot of cucamelons (which just had their very first bloom!) under the patio canopy. The wind came second – great shifts in the atmosphere barreling through the oak trees and pines in the distance. The approach of dark skies came third – like some ominous army quickly approaching, rumbles grew to thunderous claps. Finally, the rain fell – hard and heavy – ripping every last drop of moisture from the sky before throwing it all down onto the earth.
If my grandmother was still alive, she’d have exclaimed, “Heavens to Betsy!” upon the arrival of last night’s storm. It was on the tip of my tongue, waiting to be uttered if the astonishment of the deluge of rain reached an extreme level. As it is, Andy thinks I’m bonkers enough without bringing back sayings from my grandmother’s era, so I held it inside and merely texted it to my Mom.
The rain continued, and just as I was growing accustomed to its roar and the dim winter-like light level of the house, it abated – lightening its barrage as it lightened the sky. The storm was over as quickly as it came – I could have and perhaps should have slept right through it. Summer works its magic and tumult rather quickly. Blink and you’ll miss it.
