Thunder and wisdom

There was a crack of thunder that trembled the whole house. Just one.

Outside the window, the trees began to churn and swirl as if the branches had been added to a front load washing machine. Within seconds, there was a sharp and rapid stacatto of hail pounding down so thick that the backyard fence, not thirty feet away was as hazy as if the yard was filled with fog.  The rain hail mix dashed violently against the windows on all sides of the house. It pounded into the  grass and the gardens for three minutes and then everything became relatively quiet. In fifteen, the rain had stopped and the sun came out briefly, touching the rhododendron bloom brilliantly, transforming the water drops into prisms.

Kay thought about Frank. Frank had been so much more aware of the earth and its rhythms. But then, he had grown up in a small village. His parents had a large kitchen garden and every year they raised their own pig and they had chickens.

He had taught her a lot about things she had never been in tune with before.
“Did you notice?” he said, “how milk goes sour after a thunder and lightening storm?”  Or, ” See how fast the plants grow after an electrical storm?’

Kay looked out the window and surveyed the damages. It wasn’t bad, really, though there were lots more small branches scattered about on the lawn. The plants looked alright.  The grass, she noticed, had gone up an inch and a half from yesterday’s level. She would have to cut it as soon as it dried out or the neighbours would think it had “gone hippie”.

She remembered his observation about cats.

“See?” he said, pointing at Echo the tabby as she all of a sudden became obsessive about cleaning behind her ears. Echo put her softly, grey-striped paw up to her raspy tongue and proceeded to lick long strokes through the short fur then she raised the paw behind her ears and work at some imaginary dirt that would not go away. This motion was repeated and repeated, far more often than usual.

“It’s going to rain tomorrow, ” stated Frank, daring Kay to say the contrary. Invariably it would rain tomorrow.  The cat and her obsessive cleaning-behind-the-ear behaviour always seemed to precede the rain.

Logically, you might think that if hair was used in barometers because of it’s sensitivity to moisture then the cat could easily be sensitized to react to changes in humidity and it might tickle their ear hairs.  Maybe there was something logical to explain these old-wives tales.

Kay was reminded of the gardening tasks awaiting her. She had been soaking yellow was and broad bean seeds now for three days, waiting for the seeds to swell and produce the first signs of development; she had a new chrysanthemum plant from Leo and Evelyn who had just been to visit. It needed to be dug in. She had new packages of seeds – radishes, fennel and nastursiums waiting to be planted.  They would grow well in this season of heavy rains, fierce spring sun bursts and warming temperatures.

It was funny, she reflected, that you could leave someone or they could leave you, but they never left your heart.  You could agree or disagree, but the thirty years of living together never erased itself.  The anger and pains were much like a thunderstorm. The squall that arose was quickly gone. The bitterness faded and memories softened.

Kay rather enjoyed remembering Frank’s  aphorisms. She could think of him rather benignly now without any of the irritants.

Bemused, she went about her day.

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2 Responses to “Thunder and wisdom”

  1. forgottengenius Says:

    You are most talented at describing both setting as well as activity; it is truly a gift. 🙂

  2. lookingforbeauty Says:

    Thanks forgotten genius!
    I enjoy writing.

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