Lightning Strikes

Mindlessly gazing into the dark Sunday rain, nearly bedtime, a torrent enlivens the gutters. My body soft, a deep pleasure-filled stirring at distant thunder and the infinite patter of drops. Come morning, there will be no need to water the seeds I am hoping to sprout.

Then violence. Blinding light and sound AT ONCE. No counting for distance. Now, now, now. Shaking the house, my insides, my bright mood of a millisecond earlier.

All is dark. Greg and I stumble dumbly about for solar lamps, gazing out the window and watching our neighbor do the same. We hug and reassure. We ready for bed and the hope of power and a morning of hot coffee.

With gratitude to the expediency of dark of night workers, it arrives. The coffee steams. We stay in motion.