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ŠApril 2000

Carol Jane Remsburg



Spring Thunder



In the animal world shades of red are warnings to others to beware of the danger.  Above those things earthbound the skies give their own warnings.  It begins with the lead-grey sky that seems to boil and those wisps of white are devoured into the darker shades of granite and slate.  The undertones of midnight blue bloom like ugly flowers growing until one side of the world becomes black when it isn't time for the gloaming. 


The air is heavy and still in anticipation for the coming event.  The wind lives a brazen life of brewing brevity.  Billowing, swirling the clouds build in density from the dark slate they began with.  The shades of darkness become foreboding.  Utter silence rules before contredanse of the gods begins.


Beginning with a sound low and ominous, the winds build.  The trees moan and keen while the paltry efforts of man shudder and seem to crouch more tightly together.  With each assault, more power is displayed like the sparks of a runaway train; it is thunderous and hideously bright. 


At the sound of its strength we hold our breath.  We suddenly realize it would take very little more to sweep away those paltry things we hold dear.  In the face of the rumbling storm, it has little respect for those aged treasures we hold dear.  That stiff old afghan that our grandmother loved is not safe where it sits proudly arranged on her antique rocker.  Neither is that spool bed built by our great-great grandfather that was so lovingly restored.  Nor are any of those photographs and papers left to us by the parents we'll never see again.  What about our own small collections of glassware and little things that we hope to give our own children?  Then there's the old hymnal that we've have safeguarded for decades as if it were a touchstone of life and goodness in remembrance of others. 


No, in the face of strong, deadly spring storm all is vulnerable.  It's not just our shelter and our possessions, but something more precious is at risk.  We become vulnerable to those wicked, biting winds of a surging storm.


We can bar the doors and windows and mostly we are lucky as those ominous winds blow past in search of a target on which to expend its fury.  Yet sometimes we aren't so lucky.  Sometimes those winds find us and vent all their anger upon an unsuspecting us.  Then we bemoan the why of it.  There is no 'why' there only 'is.'  Life isn't always fun and games or just a drudge.  Life often reminds us that it's a scary world out there and not subject to our control and ideas. 


Light your candles, say your prayers, and hug your loved ones.  Live not in fear but respect the possibilities. 




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