Posts tagged ‘short story’
I did finally get to read to my neighbor. It was terrifying and exhilarating at the same time.
My friend whom I met with in regard to God’s harebrained plan about reading to her husband the doctor, was glad to see me and optimistic about our arrangement. Unfortunately her husband had fallen asleep and she was not able to readily wake him so instead of introducing us she left me with her eleven year old daughter while taking her other kids to youth group.
Waiting made my anxiety worse. My husband had asked earlier in the day if I was nervous and at that time I was not, even when I showed up I was not but sitting there I began to entertain my reservations.
What will he think of this crazy plan? Will he think I intend to evangelize him without compassion. I bet he is wondering if whatever I have planned will allow him yet another chance to sleep or let his thoughts wander.
I chatted with my heart in my throat, nervous about what to do if he woke. At last we heard him coughing in the other room and that darling little girl got up and ran into his room exclaiming, “Good morning, sleeping beauty!”
It was actually six at night!
“Do you wanna meet a new friend?” she exclaimed and beckoned with her hand for me to enter.
Thank you Lord!
I had been so nervous about how to approach him and yet this lovely little girl had taking away all tension with her plucky introduction.
Lord, help me not to talk down to him, help my conversation to be comfortable and respectful. Lord give me the right words so that I don’t pity him but that your love shows through me and your hope is evident without my having to preach at him. Jane and I want so badly for him to learn to trust you, help me to understand your timing.
She left us alone and I sat beside his bed and began to explain why I had chosen the book that I did. Despite the fact that God clearly directed me to read House, by Ted Dekker and Frank Peretti, I had many other reasons for agreeing with Him and I shared those. 🙂
As I spoke I took in a couple quick glances at the pictures above the bed, they were of healthier times for the doctor and I was shocked at the stark difference. Though he had thick cotton white hair even then, it was silky and bright . Now his hair was a coarse gray mat against his head. He had been a big man with a broad inviting smile. Now, emaciated and limp, his smile ghoulish, his head appearing too large on his skeleton frame. My heart ached.
I opened my book and read stopping now and again to take a sip of water and allow him to cough.
We finished one chapter and I paused to talk a little about myself. I told him briefly about each of my kids and that I felt blessed to know his family. His daughter came in to check on us and I took another drink of my water while conversing with her.
I read another chapter and twice I made major mistakes that sent us both into laughter. His eyes sparkled and he tried to laugh but it caused a coughing fit. I winced at the pain it seemed to cause him as he gagged and sputtered. I could not believe that I was sitting there, next to a man who was so incapacitated and yet the Lord was allowing us to fellowship. I was not disturbed by the monitors and wheelchair. My mind was filled with compassion and my heart longed only for him to know my Jesus and accept the promise of complete healing whether on earth or in heaven.
I read a total of three chapters and in the third had another laugh fumbling around with my voice attempting to recreate a “booming” male voice.
Though I had seen the sparkle in his eye and thought I made him laugh it was hard to be sure how he was taking it until his daughter ran to her mother the minute she arrived and exclaimed “He was so into it, I haven’t seen him that alert!”
My reservations were wiped away and the Lord graciously confirmed that His thoughts are completely different from ours…and His ways are far beyond anything we can imagine.
I read again soon and will be sure to keep you updated.
“My thoughts are completely different from yours,” says the Lord. “And my ways are far beyond anything you could imagine. For just as the heavens are higher than the earth so are my ways higher than your way and my thoughts higher than your thoughts.”
“The rain and snow come down from the heavens and stay on the ground to water the earth. They cause the grain to grow producing seed for the farmer and bread for the hungry. It is the same with my word. I send it out and it always produces fruit. It will accomplish all I want it to and it will prosper everywhere I send it. You will live in joy and peace. The mountains and hills will burst into song, and the trees of the field will clap their hands! Where once briers grew, myrtles will sprout up. This miracle will bring great honor to the Lord’s name; it will be an everlasting sign of his power and love.”
“We were, wanna be rebel’s who didn’t have a clue…
in our rockin’ roll t-shirts and our ty-pi-cal bad attitudes.”
That was my best friend and I! There was one summer when we were sixteen, we had way too much fun. For us girls it was long horseback rides wearing shorts and moccasins riding home in the dark. It was that time at dusk a coyote stalked us for over half an hour. It was running our horses with the elk in the vast Idaho woods around her house. It was skinny dipping in the lake or better yet jumping in fully clothed and then getting the worlds worst saddle sores riding home wet! She got hurt so much that year her parents dubbed their place “Kicking Horse Ranch” in honor of our antics. Guess I shouldn’t wonder where my kids get it! This was one of those kicking horse stories.
It was spring breakup, the time the loggers have to find other things to do because the ground is so soft and muddy. It’s a great time for riding horseback and we hadn’t been out in ages. Forgetting all inhabitions we bridled the horses in the field and took off down the mountain. We were so anxious we didn’t bother to follow the proper steps; halter, brush, tack, bridle then go. I gave her a leg up onto her dun mare and then, while she held my horse I backed up far enough to get a few good steps running and lept onto my appaloosa hooking my left arm over her tall wither, then shimmyed myself up onto her back. It was slow and not at all graceful. Later into the summer we could swing on bareback with ease but it was spring and our riding muscles were weak so we scrambled up any ol’ way we could manage.
Away we went.
Our girls, Kyanne and Shadow were smoked, heads held high, ears perked and prancing up the logging trail as we giggled and sang in our best Reba accent,
“I remember it ah-all very weh-ell, lookin’ back it was the summer I turned eighteen. We li-ived in a one room, run down shack on the outskirts of New-ooo Orleans.”
She picked up the pace and I followed then gave her a mischievious look, nodded and leaned forward to indicate I wanted to race. Without a word she slapped her mare gently on the rump taking her from a trot to a run. Shadow picked up her feet faster and faster galloping ahead to meet my challenge.
The trees whipped by like dark fence rails… one, two, three. Faster and faster we went. Now five rails at a time, now ten. We were flying!
Bareback at a full gallop our seats no longer touched the horses. We knew we needed to slow down because up ahead the road would switch back and start up the steep mountain. Out of breath I tried to rein in my horse. Fighting for balance and leverage I bumped on Kyanne’s back.
Bump, yank, bump, yank.
I hated to yank on her but she wasn’t responding. She was usually so good but her instinct was too strong. I could not get her to stop!
My friend was a good couple yards ahead of us not having any more luck with her horse Shadow.
“I can’t STOP!” she hollered into the wind!
The hairpin turn was fast approaching. The trees were still flashing past by the dozen. Up ahead the road had washed out from a stream caused by melting snow. Shale had collapsed down the steep shoulder into our path.
I watched helplessly as Shadow slowed and kicked up her heels to attempt to strike my horse and maintain her lead. My friend swung herself off the side, still hanging onto the reins and was dragged face first into the mud in front of me.
I was pulling with all my might but desperately trying not to fall off when my horse lurched to the right and up the steep incline of shale and falling rock. We scrambled and slid down toward the heap that was my best friend.
Forgetting the reins, I wrapped my arms around Kyanne’s neck and squeezed my eyes shut letting out a weak scream as my little Indian horse pushed off from the bank and lept over my huddled friend.
It took less than two seconds but it felt like an eternity. I peeked through one eye as we sailed over the top of her and then squeezed both eyes shut again to brace for the landing.
She landed and stopped.
Still wrapped around her neck I slowly let out a stifled breath, “whoa.”
I quickly dismounted and made a feeble attempt to catch Shadow who was undisturbed by the events and happily eating grass. She took one look at me and bolted for home.
My best friends head was bleeding, I had noticed it the minute I opened my eyes but she insisted I catch her horse. Not wanting to alarm her I followed her directions until the horse took off then turned back to her, purposely defeated.
She put her hand to her head and brought it down in front of her face covered in blood. “I’m bleeding!”
I responded in a calm monotone, “I know.” I was not calm but had to think clearly, this was no time to panic.
The blood trickled all the way down to the bottom of her long blond hair and began to pool on the ground behind her but she was alert and sitting up so I was optimistic. We were a good couple miles from home and left with only one horse.
I asked if she thought she could stand up while secretly trying to see if her eyes were dilated. My dad, being an EMT and firefighter by trade was a safety nazi and prepared me constantly for emergency situations and concussions. To my recolection I had never had to use my “expertise”. Yet!
I had an extra shirt so I used it to provide pressure on the cut and attempt to stop the bleeding. Slowly she clamored to her feet and I let her lean on my horse. We began the long walk back.
“Well, you won!” I teased.
“Very funny Jess.” she grumbled and rolled her eyes holding the wadded up shirt awkwardly atop her head.
When Shadow arrived home without a rider my friend’s brother was sent down on his motorcycle to see if we needed help. He roared up and skidded to a stop, took one look at his sister and went into panic mode!
“Get on I’ll take you home!”
Yeah right, she will be real safe on your dirt bike as you race her back up the hill in a frenzied panic!? I worried silently.
My friend was quick to think, “I’m okay, just go get the farm truck” she instructed.
He started his cycle back up, revved the engine a couple times, did a donut in the gravel and raced back up the mountain spitting rocks at us as he retreated.
“Hrmph,” I snorted, “I hope he makes it back safely!”
Once again we were left in silence. We sat down in the grass beside the road and stared into the blue sky. Why do these things always happen to us? I sighed heavily and knelt to peel back the shirt just enough to see if the bleeding was beginning to slow. It looked good to me but what did I know.
Once the pickup returned I mounted Kyanne and rode the rest of the way home in silence. I knew my friend would be okay but it could have been much worse! I trembled a little as the adrenaline left my body and praised God for His hand in the situation….
Thank you Lord for protecting us even in our stupidity!
Her mom and I washed the wound and joked about whether or not we could tape her sliced scalp back together. She felt no real pain, just a dull headache and had no signs of concussion. Still we decided she had better go to the ER and have it checked out. I don’t remember exactly how many stitches she got but I do remember sitting there begging the doc not to cut her beautiful hair!
So I’ve been a mom for almost eight years now. I know, it’s more than some, less than others but this morning I had a turning point. I do believe my mother would be proud. I have to say, I’ve graduated.
I’ve dealt with poo in every imaginable place and some NOT, I can handle throw up (as long as I’m not pregnant and nauseous myself) and I do pretty darn well with blood just ask Thing 2 aka “Roadrash King” and “Scar-funkle”! My weakness has always been with sink ickies. You know the stuff, the soggy cereal that is half stuck to the bottom of the sink, the random pieces of fruit that are barely recognizable and also very slimy, then there are often beans or pieces of meat swirling around and around in the drain too big to slip through the slot and disappear forever.
The worst is when mom’s been gone and there are stray dishes in the sink disguising the problem. Mom comes home at midnight from a once in a blue moon girls night/baby shower falls into a fitful sleep and wakes up late (theoreticaly-;)) to find the lurking dinner goodies floating around under a couple plates and a handful of silverware.
You know what I did today? Instead of my usual freak out; convulsing while fighting my gag reflex, shielding my eyes from the horror of it all then trying to fish out the invaders with a spoon and a paper towel (no I don’t have a disposal) while all the while holding my breath which if it takes too long puts me at further risk of passing out right then and there on the kitchen floor. Instead of all that I reached my bare hand down into the sink drain and scooped that puppy right out of there. It’s like a creature out of mad science and I TOUCHED it, grabbed it and threw the whole darn mess away WITHOUT gagging.
I tell ya, I’ve graduated!
It wasn’t even Sunday and I got that feeling in my stomach that happens when you know you are supposed to go up during the altar call. The very same butterflies that urge you to speak out on something important. The unrest that does not settle until you take action. I’m sure you’ve felt the same feeling in one situation or another. But this was the middle of the week. No pastor preaching, nobody challenging my ideals just me driving my car down the road in peace and quiet! Maybe that was the trouble, I’m usually unable to think, let alone pray with my Thinglets poking each other and Pee Wee squealing along with them, my radio blaring to try to drowned out the noise.
I knew what it meant. We have a new neighbor in the valley whose house I pass each time I go to town. The family had moved into the single level home six months after the man of the house had suffered a major frontal lobe stroke that put him in a nursing home and made it unable for him to return to their multi level house only a few miles away.
Matt and I had stopped by one day and offered our assistance when we saw them moving in. Jane told us the whole story about her husbands stroke and how he was unable to return home to her and the kids until they moved into a house that was better suited to a wheelchair.
When we left I couldn’t stop thinking about how I could serve them better. What could I do to help out?
Drop off a meal? Ugh! No offense to any kind soul who serves meals in love but I always cringe at the Christian cliche, “Just serve them a meal!” Although this common practice is how I was introduced to one of my favorite meals to date (so I had better not frown too obviously) it’s just not my cup of soup.
I could babysit the kids but anyone who knows me IRL knows that I am not the gal for that job! While I love my kids and have an absolute blast with each and every one of them I’m not the little kid type. Please send me all your teenagers but not your babies! Only one of Jane’s children would fit my category so I didn’t think that would be my job either.
“How then Lord, how can I help?”
Have you ever asked a question and promptly found you regret the resulting answer?
I did get a clear answer. Not in the form of actual words but a vivid and real epiphany complete with the thought process behind it, none of which I came up with on my own.
For months the Lord has been preparing me to stop and present His harebrained plan of which I am supposed to happily facilitate. I’ve prayed many times since then, ” let me know when it is time Lord,” and yet even when he made it distinctly evident, I didn’t want to go through with it.
Imagine an intelligent and mature man who had spent a lifetime pursuing a successful career as a doctor, a family practitioner. He has a beautiful wife many years younger than himself, loving and devoted to him, his three darling children and his time consuming job and passion. They live in a grand custom home on a private lake and lead a life of ease. The family entertains many friends and attends church every holiday. They are the ideal American family.
Now imagine you are that man and one night after you lay your head to rest you awake to the bright lights of the ER. The smells and sounds as familiar as your jobplace.
Wait… you can not turn your head, you can’t sit up and reach over to turn off the monitor beeping in your ear. Your heart begins to race, your eyes dart from the lights on the ceiling to the IV in your hand. The blue coats rushing around are not your nurses, but you’ve seen them before while attending surgery at the local hospital. Why can’t you speak? You want to ask “Why am I laying here?”
I thought about these things and I imagined myself in Dr. Smith’s position. I feared the inability to move myself, to express myself, to learn. When I climbed into his shoes I was terrified and lonely.
It’s been a year since his stroke but mobility has not returned, speech continues to allude him. People come to the new house to wish him speedy recovery but most of them don’t know what to say, they talk to him like a child. He can’t lift his hand to shake theirs, he can not assure them he is still as sharp as ever in thought. He can only sit alone with his thoughts hoping to either get well or die.
If I were in his shoes I can only imagine the struggle I would have pondering the apparent either/or.
Armed with compassion I would not have mustered on my own and the harebrained plan that made me blush each time I explained it to those who were praying, I drove up the driveway to the new house and parked reluctantly at the barn.
I was really hoping this was another practice run since I’d parked there once before (another time when the butterflies made me do it) only to find that Jane was not home. This time she slipped out the back door almost immediately and strode confidently toward my Suburban. A lump formed in my throat. I conjured up a front for my visit and began to converse about our kids, 4-H, the Mariners (not really) until finally the swirling, fluttering, shaky feeling could no longer be ignored.
“Jane, uh er, I uh…,” I took a deep breath then spit it all out, “the real reason for my visit is to see if your husband would like if I was to read to him on a regular basis.”
I didn’t look for her reaction before I continued, “I have a book in mind that I have not read yet, it’s a supernatural thriller that honestly sounds a little scary.”
Then I took another breath and tried to blur the next sentence into an unrecognizable muddle, “It has a faith based component, so I believe it ends well.”
To my surprise my lovely neighbor whom I barely know anything about latched onto the whole idea like I was sent by God to help ease her burden. Imagine that! 😉
Before blurting out the whole plan I had thoroughly convinced myself of the stupidity of reading to an intelligent man, like I was Mr Rogers. The Lord told me clearly to read to a scholarly doctor who despite his medical condition I was convinced could certainly read on his own.
After I had settled my fluttering friends, I confided in Jane as to how stupid I felt for even suggesting the idea. The only read aloud forums I would let myself imagine were juvenile gatherings; the library story hour, Saturday nights as a kid listing to my dad read “Little House on the Prairie” and visions of my own children nestled around reading “The Indian in the Cupboard.” What in the world would a full grown man think of me READING to him. “I’m sure he can read on his own, maybe he would prefer to borrow my book!” I explained.
“Oh, no,” Jane grew solemn “He would not be able to hold the book.”
The stroke had been severe enough that even a year later the doctor is still unable to sit fully on his own or steady his hands for anything other than a squeeze or a meager wave. His speech is nearly non existent and if he stands at all it is only with the help of a strong adult. Most of the time she said he doesn’t even lift his head to watch the TV. “He just listens,” she assumed aloud.
At the mention of faith (a word I had used hoping to avoid the subject of Jesus all together) a whole new conversation emerged and I spent the next hour sharing a spiritual connection with Jane. I learned that she is a believer herself and concerned about her husbands salvation. Before the stroke, he had been successful and preoccupied, not the one to persue Christian gatherings but never in the way of her endeavor to educate the children on “religious” matters. She told me about how more and more people have been pursuing him and telling him that Christ wants to be a part of his life.
She told me, with an embarrased but mischievous glint in her eye that she had been reading her Bible to him and dragging him out to church every Sunday.
As she described it, they had recently had a discussion where she told him that he needed to give his burdens to the Lord and allow Christ into his life. Things that day had been really bad, he was weak and unhelpful when she tried to get him up, she had struggled to lift while he resisted and in the end he had fallen. She knew that her prayers could only go so far since the Lord will not make a person believe so she urged him to pray and ask God for assistance. The next day his strength was back and his face a little less ashen.
The Lord hears and the doctor is beginning to ask!
There was an urgency in Jane’s mind in regard to her husband knowing the Lord’s healing. We talked about the possibility of the Great Physician bringing total healing and she insisted it won’t happen until Dr. Smith allows it.
I invited them to a bible study at our house and she said they would be sure to come.
Through obedience to the Lord, I have made a new friend, been given a new prayer, and am a participant in the healing process of the doctor in heart and health! I am confident this won’t be the end of the story.
Click here to read what happened next.
It was the horseback ride from_____ well, lets just say it was an adventure.
Thing 1 begs me every day to take him riding so this time I said yes. We have a little pinto mare whom he calls “his horse” that has an arthritic knee (from an injury) and can’t go anywhere too fast so he is pretty safe on her.
We waited for Matt to come home, shoveled down a quick dinner and piled out the door hoping to sneak out before the Bubba could see what was happening.
Thing 2 didn’t want to get left behind so I doubled him on my “Mountain Mare” and we headed down the trail.
We went along fine for a while but 5 year old Thing 2 is not the most natural of horsemen and when my horse jolted forward unexpectedly I suddenly had his feet up under my armpits. Instead of bringing her to an immediate stop all I could think was to grab for him behind my back, hoping to catch a clump of his shirt. He was howling and wailing while she loped ahead and he bounced around on her rump while I tried desperately to keep us both atop!
We made it through that one and it wasn’t long before the howls of surprise subsided. The 5 year old can get quite emotional over anything unexpected.
Meanwhile Thing 1 was plunking along on his little mare when we came to a large tree in the trail. She could not lift her bad knee high enough to clear the obstacle so with a crash and a bump she ended up high centered over the thing. In another instant and a horrendous struggle she made it over completely, fell to her knees and then stumbled back up to her feet. I have no idea how Thing 1 managed to ride it out with out a peep. Poor girl banged up her sore knee.
We finally made it out of the woods about 3 miles down a fairly steep grade to meet back up with the road below. My horse decided that she was bored and started eyeing everything with suspicion.
We rode about a half mile on the road where a garbage can tried to eat Mountain Mare, then my neighbors fluffy dog; a bunch of cows, a rabbit in the weeds, a bicyclist and a motorcyclist then a kind neighbor who stopped in his pickup truck to let us pass. He said hello in a voice so deep and smoothly rich that it startled me as well! Thing 2 told me later in a high pitched squeak “I hope I sound like that man when I grow up!”
I could not get my horse to settle down and I worried about another jolting ride for Thing 2 so I hopped off and led us back up the road to the trail head where I figured we would be safe from horse eating monsters.
We settled in again Mountain Mare and I in the lead with wiry haired Thing 2 clinging to my waist and Thing 1 surprisingly quiet (for once) following behind on his poky girl.
Not 100 feet into the woods we came to a fence and the cutest little gray donkey that had to stand less than 30″ high and was certainly that wide! But Oh *^$&*+ I am sure I heard my horseswear as her head snapped around to get a better look and we both saw him squeeze that fat belly right between the gate and a big black railroad tie it was chained to.
In an aggressive move I didn’t expect from such a cute little booger he bolted up to Thing 1’s horse, reared up and snorted in her face.
“Don’t let them sniff,” I scolded him then tried to urge my horse ahead to keep the mares moving farther away from the crazy donkey. My son’s mare stood frozen in fear while I am certain by the look in her eye, my mare continued to think up unkind words to describe the angry gray monster.
We got a little ahead and the donkey left Thing 1’s mare to gallop past my horse and attempt to kick her in the knee with both hooves flying. “Hang on TIGHT!” I hollered at Thing 2 who had practically climbed into the saddle with me, arms and legs wrapped around my waist, head pressed into my back, this time no howls.
When the little guy came galloping back through the brush and the trees Thing 1’s horse decided she’d had enough. She rammed into the back of us then jetted around my horse and ran as fast as her little legs could take her with the mini chasing from behind.
“Hang on! Hang on TIGHT!” I yelled, still trying to cling to my double rider with one arm and steer my horse up the rocky trail with the other.
Suddenly the donkey turned back but our horses were not convinced, I allowed my mare to lope in order to keep up with my oldest and his runaway pony. He was hanging on like nobody’s business but had lost his stirrups so legs and boots where flying and flopping, at first on either side of the horse and then slowly he leaned…
and I watched, as if in slow motion, as he bounced until off the side he went.
I was a little too close to the accidental dismount on a very narrow trail so my horse had to jump in order to avoid stomping his feet or a leg.
In just twenty feet or so the riderless horse stopped and behind me the horseless rider got up, groaned a little then started hiking. I wasn’t sure if he was mad or personally offended but he wasn’t seriously hurt, thank the Lord.
I had to hike the three miles home up the steep trial dragging two horses while Thing 1 limped along, only his pride hurt but his horse too banged up to ride.
Back at home the boys told Dad we had an adventure and when Thing 1 retold the story he claimed he “was born to fall off!”
All because of a horse eating mini donkey.
Yeah that’s right, it says “tinkle” not “tickle”!
As many of you know I’m in the process of potty training the Bubba and let me tell you it is an adventure to put it mildly. Training a toddler with two older brothers is a lot different than when I trained the first two who didn’t have peer pressure to guide them in potty time fun.
Today before nap I scurried Bubba up the stairs to get a diaper. While I was putting Pee Wee into her crib singing a lullaby and tickling her baby soft ribs I heard a tinkle from the direction of the bathroom that sits between the “baby girl room” and “3 boys room”.
Now before you cry mutiny and snicker at my “little Princess” getting to reside solo in the “royal suite” please know that the Thinglets did this to themselves. As I was setting up the nursery I prepared it for Bubba and Pee Wee but the boys pitched such a fit that I had to squeeze the toddler bed into the already stuffed “2 boys bedroom” and it promptly became the “3 boys bedroom”. Sigh! Even if I don’t turn her into “the Princess” her big brothers will.
At any rate the tinkling began and I jerked around, stole into the bathroom to find the Bubba desperately hanging onto his “peanut” (as he calls it- pardon my description of this torturous event) while an ark of tinkle reached up and over the potty sprinkling the toilet tank, then the floor, then the seat.
Oh NO! He hasn’t got AIM! Who would expect him to at the good ol’ age of “SOoo TEW”. I watched in horror not wanting to get myself into the baptising and trying to figure out how to help.
He leaned forward and tried to stop the stream only instead of relaxing he pulled harder and this time the tinkle went nearly straight up and dribbled ceremoniously on his pudgy belly and trailed down his legs.
“Stop, stop!” I finally manage, though I don’t know how I expected him to accomplish that.
He tried, and I stretched my go go gadget arms aiming for his pits, snatched him up and dangled him triumphantly over the porcelain throne just in time for the last little dribble.
“I done!” he announced with dignation.
Just another day in Paradise!
Tonight I watched the most amazing storm it inspired this poem.
The Moon Presides
A procession of angry clouds was gliding across the sky glowing green from the moon’s reflection. The sky to the south was black and seemed endlessly immense with a half moon swinging from one corner.
The sky to the north was crowded with dense clouds that seemed close enough to touch if you dared. Brilliant flashes eminating from behind, above and through warned over and over, “Behold my beauty, beware of my magnitude.”
There was an eerie absence of sound.
In the south, peace. In the north, turmoil.
In the south, endless possibility. In the north, anguishing responsibility.
The moon in the south with its chin tipped ever so slightly heavenward, undaunted in it’s immense black cloak, made no notice of the show at the other end of the sky that threatened to blot out his contented nodding.
The clouds in the north, however, wore the reflection of the sleeping moon and though they clamored over one another, flashing and snorting huge gusts of wind the storm couldn’t rid herself of that peaceful glow.
Climbing, rolling, flash again, “Behold my beauty, beware of my magnitude,” clouds rumbled by while blinding flashes attempted to blot out that happy moon.
Smaller and smaller the angry mass dwindled, blinking and rolling still chanting her mantra, “Behold my beauty, beware…” but her stamina was reaching its end.
“Behold my beauty…” a slow steady sigh slipped through the trees like fingers through long coarse hair.
“Behold,, behold, behold…” the clouds tumbled smaller until they were only a wisp on the dark horizon, enveloped by the thick black cloak of the silent moon whose reflection could not be blotted out.
Like the glint of light on the pupil of an eye he remained slung lazily from one corner of the night sky.
He noticed not, all the boasting and warning, he simply hung on, gentle and true evermore until the thrashing jeers were over and the storm was forced to succumb to his humble authority.
The night once again returned to peace.