Storm

The rain is a curtain outside. I have opened the windows to hear its fall, and to feel the thunder's rumbling. From the edge of a neighboring roof, the wind blows a fog of raindrops shattered by their own fall. The trees wave their arms. Finally the heat is breaking.

I am inside with the rabbits, who seem undisturbed. Pepper is sleeping on the floor of the open cage, Pipkin has holed himself up as usual. It is quiet, with the air conditioner finally off. We have been running it constantly for the past two days. It is an old wall unit, and very loud. Its roar has been working itself into my head.

Now the machines are still. For a moment, the cacophony of the city is blanketed by the sounds of a beautiful storm. Rain patters down, onto roofs, sidewalks, trees. The wind rustles in wet leaves. Thunder rocks the sky.

I could use a rainstorm inside the house, inside me. Shake all my branches, wash away the dead leaves. Stop the machines of my consciousness, and let the rain flow. Let the thunder rumble through me, till all the music and the chatter stop.


Afterward, everything will be still. Then, one bird will begin to sing.