Storm Serenade

Tonight, the rest of Houston bears down under the barrage of lightning, thunder, wind and rain. Local newscasts wax dramatic, reporting each downed tree, every swollen creek. And of course, the occassional voluntary Darwinist who stupidly pilots their car quite literally as the latest entrant in the local Submarine Races.

Weather reports lead the evening's broadcasts, tracking the storm cells on virtually a street by street basis. High theatre for the masses, what with the occassional torn shingle and such.

Nature's songs aren't always gentle lullabyes. Metallica pales in comparison to even a small thunderstorm parked straight overhead, and frankly I prefer the thunderstorm. In fact, I like storms, period.

Under sail and with a squall line bearing down on a small boat, it's challenging, exhilirating and thrilling to the core to race against the wind, reefing down the sails and securing what you can before the tempest strikes. And strike it does, screaming across the waves and stripping their tops off as foam and spume, leaving patterns of cat's claws scribbled hastily across the pummeled seas.

Pounded by an endless windblown salvo of spray and salt, every sense is heightened, time compresses and yet at the same time, draws out endlessly. The helm leaps under hand with a life of it's own as the boat chases each new crest like an eager colt.

And I love it.

I miss it terribly, too. Given the past year and a half of strained budgets and overdue maintenence, the New Dawn remains sadly, forlornly tied to her pier. Still a proud ship, together at this dock we've weathered a tropical storm and Claudette, a small hurricane. Before moving here from Kemah, add two more tropical stoms to that mix, including Allison which brought all of Houston to it's knees under her torrents.

The boat will be fixed and shall find the open sea again. Have no doubt about that.

But tonight, I sit dockside and enjoy the gentle roll of the hull as the remnants of swells from the Intercoastal Waterway shrug their way into the marina. With the sutble song of docklines groaning tautly then sighing with releif as they relax the strain, the harmony of the wind in the shrouds and the tattoo of the beat of distant boats' ill secured halyards tinkling against their masts, I'm mindful of the gift that I'm living here.

The intrepid weatherdrone breathlessley warns of new waves of storms yet to come, sometime later tonight.

I'll retire to my berth though, well before the next storms arrive. And I know that in the wee hours, I'll be awakened by the screams of wind through the masts, strobes of lightning and the throaty roars of thunder from near and afar.

Yet, I'll quickly succumb again to the serenade of rain pelting the deck above and the rocking of the cradle which is my home.

Sinner though I may be, I'll sleep the sleep of the just this night.

I just love a good storm.

Comments

[Mollbot]

That was my favorite thing about living in Orlando... really the only thing I liked about it: the afternoon thunderstorms. I LOVE thunder and lighting... some buried remnant of the primitive caveman no doubt, agape at the battles of the Gods.

[Anne]

** sigh **

You really make me want to run off in a boat, rather than an RV, as planned.

Enjoy the storm . . .

[A Recovering Liberal]

Ah yes, Mother Nature's little reminders that we're not as powerful as we like to think we are. I love thunder and lightning, which don't often occur in SoCal.

Luckily, while I was in Port Aransas, a thunderstorm provided wonderful strobe lighting and incredible thunderclaps that sounded like rifle shots outside the hotel room. That and the discovery of Shiner Bock are my souvenirs of the trip.

BTW, lyrical writing, Jim. Damn good job.

[Beth]

Man! You make thunderstorms sound exciting... almost.

When I was little, our house was surrounded by trees. Lots of trees. They seemed to be lightning rods- there was never a flash, then a pause under the thunder rolled. It was all at once, shaking the windows and scaring a little girl half to death. I crawled under the bed more times than I can count. A friend in college mentioned that it was "kind of cute" the way I would cringe IN MY SLEEP when there was a flash of lightning. Evidently, I would tense up at the flash, then stay tense until the thunder. Then I would relax, and repeat the whole scene until the storm passed. Cute, my a** !

Now that I have kids, it seems to have mellowed my anxiety. They don't really bother me anymore. I haven't quite reached appreciation, but I might get there someday.

[Rivrdog]

High poetry, sir.

[Sam]

"And I love it."

And I love it too...we've been getting hammered up here in North Carolina as well.

Ain't nuthing like a good storm.

I wish I was on a boat...right now. The best, most intense storms I've ever experienced, have been on a boat. That is, a boat with a deep keel and sheets...no gas.