The Thunderstorm

by Cheríe

The thunderstorm
is rising far away,
and the far-away is getting CLOSER.
I can even smell the storm now,
so I am certain it is real.
The idea of a thunderstorm is a frightening one. Exciting.
Things have been the same for so long . . .
Safe. But dry. Very dry and unchanging.
My world is steady, but not growing.
I'm standing outside, trying to remember what a thunderstorm
is like.
I've only seen one or two. Small. Years ago.
But this one is different. I sense it in the restless wind. This storm will be vast and powerful, leaving nothing unchanged.
I survey the landscape around me. There is my house, the small cottage in which I've always lived. In the back is my garden. It's having trouble growing, but I'm not even sure I like vegetables.
There are worn dirt paths, here and there,
telling the stories of the few places I have walked.
And there stand my beloved trees. Surrounding my house is a little forest of them, and my favorite ones are scattered closely in the yard.
What would a storm do to them? To everything?
In my mind, I can see the wild wind tearing off branches and floods of water washing trees completely away. Washing away everything I can't hold on to.
Washing away me . . . !
If this thunderstorm comes, my world will never be the same again. The life I've always known will change. The landscape will be entirely different.
I dread the storm. Stay away.
But . . . it compels me . . . rolling in the distance. It will snatch away normal life, but what if it brings something better? It will wash away the dust and change everything. It will change me, too.
My heart is pounding. How long before the storm comes?
Will it come? If it passes, I will have missed something. I will have missed the power and excitement of watching it wreak havoc in my dilapidated life.
With a shudder, I realize that I can suddenly feel the chill of rain on my skin, the wind nearly blowing me over where I stand.
The thunderstorm is coming.
The thunderstorm is change,
and I think I want it.


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