The sky turns rapidly from gray to black within a few blinks of an eye.
Colossal flashes appear...
The wind blows...
A rumbling sound tumbles across the treetops...
Billowing clouds occasionally shadow-light our world with sunshine gold and heavenly blue. It is the stage lighting for this woodwind symphony.
Out over
the distant, over-shadowed hills and valleys, a wide vertical column of rain falls from
beneath a large thunderhead.
A special sound within this woodwind symphony attracts pour attention. Two young trees are rubbing against each other. Trunks touching...bark to bark...We can hear their love as they move with the wind.
On the other side of the clearing among the sweet fern and huckleberry flowers a fawn is born. Its coy innocence can be heard as its Mother licks the fur of her newborn. On the other side, the music is the waltz of the flowers responding in swinging syncopation. In between the interplay of all living things is at the command of the conductor’s magic wand.
Within the depth of time...
We...
Smell its memory messages...
Taste its tenderness...
Feel its touch...
Hear its music...
The end of the storm is no less marvelous. Wildflower purples, yellows and reds are definitely brighter. Blade and leaf is so pungent it can be tasted as well as smelled. Everything in this Appalachian Mountain Country World sparkles and tingles with new enthusiasm for living and growing.
Copyright © 1988, 1999 Barbara A. Smith, John G. Hipps. All rights reserved.
This essay first was published June 1, 1988 in the Free-Press Courier, Westfield, Pennsylvania.