Beautiful glossy acorns

If the storm had a body, this was one jab from one fingertip, no more; elsewhere the hurricanes tore, here the road was lost under mulch, here light branches fell. We felt the roar, the joyous power, we were safe in our home. In the morning the sun rose, an orange fire caught in grey cloud, sparks that lit tree tops - copper and iron. Images of a weather god, hammer swinging, forging - a ploughshare, I think. To turn over earth and plant a green crop, to keep our soil safe through winter.
Day and night draw even. Nights will start to stretch. We must think of winter stores; hunkering down, shoring up.

I feel like we will have enough, we will get the work done. Often when contentment loomed I had feared it. It seemed a dulling of my senses, of this edge to edge living. This time I am plumping cushions, setting the wood burner. And yes the house is full of boxes and bottles and things to be done, we have not reached the still point of cosy - but I am ready to be comfortable. Nothing stops storms, whatever zone you inhabit. In the temperate zones the seasons will morph, the days and nights will shift their hours. I too am changing, and yet not: I am sky, all this is but weather.

Silhouette of tree against grey sky


Isn't it amazing how random a storm's wrath can be? When tornadoes struck near us, it seemed as though Mother Nature played a game of "eeny-meeny-minie-moe" to decide which homes to destroy and which to leave standing. And then, regardless of the destruction caused by the weather, the sun returns to a clear blue sky... as though nothing ever happened. Perhaps that eternal surreal sameness of the sky is what we seek? I can see why you'd identify with it.

Have a super weekend.

By the way, I dunno why, but the last couple comments you left on my blog? Clicking on your icon (which has changed to something generic) is a dead end. I probably could've gone into my blog roll to find my way here, but I just went back a few posts to find your smiling face and the proper trail of breadcrumbs.

Contentment can be dangerously seductive.

Glad you're safe.
Lisa Southard said…
Thank you Susan, and apologies for the reply delay - Chromebook weirdness, which also explains the dead end generic icon. Good job you're smart enough to still find me :-)
Lisa Southard said…
I think I shall always have a healthy respect for contentment, and weather :-)

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