By Connie Casey
The house was silent today and grey skies provided only dim silvery light to spill in through the windows. The heavy pendulum of the grandfather clock in the corner of the dining room echoed like a huge metronome across the wood floor. Wind buffeted against the house making creaking sounds and whistled through every nook and cranny. As if the conductor had taken to the stage and tapped his baton on a music stand, the musicians outside came to attention. Soft sprinkles made no sound on their own until they accumulated on the roof and landed in an adagio drip. The water rushing down the slope of the roof coursed into the gutter hanging on the eve and gurgled to the ground below. The percussion brush of wet pine boughs swishing against the outside walls joined in as the wind moved the rain to an andante beat. Leaves that had been concealed under the deck for the past few months were whisked out of their hiding place by the wind whirling with the current of the air across the pasture. Toys left outside, a mower under a tarp, concrete, dirt and puddles all responded to the rain with a different sound. They were a symphony of instruments that couldn’t keep time with each other. The metal barn roof rumbled like a bass drum. The onslaught was falling with an urgency now, unloading the water laden clouds with a moderato gusto. Thunder and a crack of lightning sped my heartbeat’s tempo to an allegro measure, then the maestro gave the command and PRESTO! The deluge was a deafening roar like an audience on their feet at the end of a piece performed by Beethoven himself. It was suddenly silent, and I saw water seeping in under the dining room door, and a single bird began to sing. I can easily find something to love about every kind of weather and a good storm is music to my ears. How about you?
Photo courtesy of Lacey Green Photography
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