Cloudbursts at Sunrise

Pin It I awoke this morning to a daybreak saturated in pictorial cloud character; gray and puffy cauliflower blossoms, like clumps of cottonwood fluff caught in the wind clustered around the rising inclines of Mount Timpanogos—heaps of whipped cream upon a vanilla mountain. Rich, buttery sunlight inked its way over the slopes like caramel topping slathered over a savory dessert.

Even being caught on my early-morning commute behind a slowly moving yellow school bus couldn’t damper my day for - with windows down - the freshly mown grass glistened with the early-morning dew, coating the very air I drove through with the early flesh of summer.

The music playing became the moment.

What a truly glorious day.

Do you remember?

Pin It It was probably a long time ago for you; at least it was for me.

I had gotten up on that Christmas Eve because I had heard noises in the living room: voices, movement, and a general air of trying to be quiet.

I eased out of bed, and with carpeted footfalls, slipped from my bedroom and peeked into the dimly-lit living room—ignited with the lights which festooned the evergreen with its homemade decorations and the plate of treats left out on an endtable for the late-night visitor.

What I saw that fateful night haunts me still. It was then that I knew, knew mind you. It was like a little part of me died at that moment of time; a euphorian wonder was forever lost.

Just.like.today.

I awoke to an orchestra

Pin It The flash of light ignited against the other side of my closed eyelids; that’s probably what awoke me from a restful slumber. The low, guttural tones of thunder followed only moments behind it, chased by the rain. The glorious downpour smattered down upon rooftop in cascades of monsoon. It layered the sidewalks in shimmery wet, inviting worms to surface for schoolchildren to step on as they make their way to my classroom later this morning in this watery-shimmered world.

I moved through the house with lights off, attentive to the wondrous orchestra playing all around me—reverberating through the four walls and ceiling—and even permeating through the very earth below me.

Light flashed, bringing to life the images hanging on the walls of my home for a brief moment of time.

Exhilaration.

Windows were thrust open, and the sounds were fully welcomed into my world—or I into theirs. Above, the lights of the city reflected off of the dark, twisting clouds as a train whistle pierced the darkness from someplace off in the distance; a melancholy souvenir of places far away, and stages of summer I loathed, yet hunger to live again.

But for now, the rain continues to fall in its eternal drizzle from the skies above me, and the August rushing of wind hits the trees in my Olympic-sized backyard, adding to the ensemble which continues to acquire its musicians.

Like before, I am prepared to meet with a smile whatever challenge is here to greet me today,

Welcome, rain.