Storms

It’s going to storm tonight in Atlanta. It’s stormed more often than not since we moved here last month. I don’t mind the storms, but they do make me a little anxious. I’ll get a book, curl up on the sofa and try to read, while the rain pounds on the side of the house, and on the tall pine trees, and on my small, robust garden. I’ll try to read, but I’ll get so engrossed by the sounds that my mind will wander, and before I know it I’ll be consumed by worry. I’ll worry about the things that might go wrong. What if one of those pine trees should fall? What about the baby birds in that nest? Who would I call to rescue them? Who would I call to rescue me?

I used to prefer the dark sky. I preferred the gloomy days. The mix of grays, and blues, and blacks. As a child I would sit on my mother’s stoop and watch the sky change. In Kansas you can never be too sure how long the storm will last. You can never be too sure which way the wind will turn. If a funnel cloud might reach a long, black finger down. You can never be sure. It’s a kind of anxiety that becomes comforting after a little while. Or maybe you just learn to live in it.

Nowadays I prefer the sunshine. I’ve learned that my body needs the sunshine to function properly. I know this. Finally. At 37-years-old. I finally know that my body needs the Vitamin D. And so does my mind. So do my emotions. My nerves. But sometimes, on days like today, when the storms are lining up to roll on through and I feel prepared, and my mind is free, it is different. Sometimes, on days like today, when my soul feels well, I can sit on my porch, take in the smell of the coming rain, and I can look forward to the storm.

M.