Summer Storm

Our wooden deck adjoins the back of our home, rising high among the trees like the deck of a ship anchored upon an ocean of green leaves.  The faerie folk like to sit atop the honey-colored deck rails and watch the birds flutter and swing on the bird feeder.  I also try to sit upon the deck as still as my faerie kin, so as not to disturb the small birds with my presence.  It is always the brave small birds, rather than their larger feathered cousins, who tolerate my presence the best.

In the near distance, I hear the rolling, rumbling sound of thunder’s drum, warning of an approaching storm. The birds have flown to the protection of the trees, while the faerie folk still seated on the deck rails lift their faces to the darkening gray sky, happily anticipating the storm’s arrival.  “Our dear Mother Earth needs a drink,” shouts one of the faerie men to me, over the sound of the rushing incoming wind.

Should I be brave like my faerie kin and stay on the deck to ride out the storm, or flee inside?  Suddenly inside I go, as the first blinding flash of lightning crackles over my head, and the rain falls in sheets upon the pages of my notebook.

Safely inside, I watch through the window as the small faerie folk stand on the deck rails, arms raised upwards, small hands held open.  With faces lifted upward to the face of the storm, they sing their storm songs, welcoming the wind and rain, and thanking the storm for giving parched Mother Earth a drink of life sustaining water.


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