A Passing Storm

It is a clear, sun-shiny day here at Green cove, yet the air is filled with the violent sound of thunder from over the mountains. Breezes here on the ground are gentle, yet a glance up through the trees reveals a turbulent sky filled with motion and activity.

Free from the burden of keeping dry, I seat myself on a rock in the middle of the cove — surrounded on all sides by mountains sloping steeply upward. Listening closely, the storm is neither approaching nor receding -instead, it is diligently moving around green cove — patiently surrounding the valley on all sides.

The sky is beginning to darken, and a light rain has begun to fall — early harbingers of a massive onslaught that could come at any moment. Yet rather than dropping her load on this peaceful community of green cove, mother nature seems to be moving on this time. At the height of tension, the sound of a single bird could be heard chirping off in the field, only then to be joined by others. As if by some magical authority, this solitary bird had called to all the others that the coast is clear, so that they could again go on with their daily activities.

Copyright (C), 1998, by Ashley Guberman

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