Music of the storm.
It was dead still calm, wet-blanket so’s you couldn’t breathe. Linus, who I swear has the intelligence of an eight-year old, got in my face, yowling something about “Run! Take cover!” and when he’d done his best, he zipped down the stairs to snug up in his favorite dry hidey-hole.
Forty-five minutes later, a giant started blowing on 200-year old oak trees, stripping them of all their ball moss and dead ends, and then it turned into a whole army of giants whooshing through the sky.
OK. Maybe this is getting serious, like when you go to a concert and expect the Vienna Boys Choir, and you get Herbert von Karajan with a good dozen full orchestras, accompanied by the greatest light show on earth, and you wonder if you should head to the closet, which is more central, or to the bathtub, which is smack dab under a NW window. And that’s the direction tornadoes come from.
Then your hair stands on end, you can’t tell if the deafening crackle shot sounds are lightning, or some more sinister coup d’etat while you’re still deciding between the closet and the tub. The air is sucked right out of your lungs, and everything vibrates as if the giant’s shop vac on steroids is trying to rip us right out of the ground.
Just when you think you are easing skyward, BAM! The damn giants back a dump truck up to your roof and let loose a load of rocks. Big rocks. Made of ice. BLAM! A fearsome percussion line slams down torpedo after torpedo of ice. Pointed weapons, I swear. Then the lights blew out. The storm zapped inside my house and fried my computer.
Stillness has a sound. Zen for your ears. With just the tiniest, high-pitched froggy song. A couple more join, then stop. No noise. A sky devoid of city lights. No streaming traffic hovering just under conscious thought, in the ceaseless river of Colorado, Lamar, MoPac, Barton Springs Boulevard…
I sat under the moon for a good while tonight, rewinding the scenes in my head of trees split in two, a carpet of bright green leaves everywhere you looked. Sympathizing with my comrades who have tougher things to worry about–broken windows, crushed cars, ruined HVACs.
It furthers one to listen to cats and the sounds of a storm.
Peace.
Tags: natural soundsRelated Stories
POSTED IN: Listening Lessons, World
0 opinions for Music of the storm.
No one has left a comment yet. You know what this means, right? You could be first!
Have an opinion? Leave a comment: