I have a fan that has gone blind. She tells me that when she hears my writing she can see again. Her husband reads to her from my book each day. Sometimes I write descriptive nature pieces just for her…this is one of those times.
There is a black cloud creeping up behind the mountain as if they are playing tag. The problem is that the cloud rumbles as it rolls closer, so the mountain knows it is coming. The trees start to sway when the beginnings of gray mist hover over them. The sun slinks away, allowing the darkest black of the cloud to have the advantage. All around the valley everyone stops to listen to the game of tag as it progresses. The horses stand still and look to the mountain for protection from the gathering wind. The birds quiet their songs to take shelter and listen to the echoes of rumbling which bounce of the steadfast peak.
The cloud is angry that it has been spotted. It roars, and claps, and crashes throwing a tantrum. Soon it pelts giant drops to the ground, starting with a few and progressing to a cascade. All the trees are dancing within the fury of the cloud. A beautiful deluge is the result. Reverberation of wind, water, and rumbling, silences all activity but the storm. The game is in full force now…the rain hissing on the leaves, the drops drumming as they rush to the earth, and the thunder…always the thunder making its statement loudly.
However, the wrath of the cloud is short lived. It is as if the fury has been expelled, and now a gentle breeze with a light shower is its apology. The smell of earth mingled with the humidity offer a moment of summer as the steam rises. The leaves have had a bath of sorts and now they drip dry in the sun which has reappeared to set things right. The mountain is still and wise as ever, knowing that the cloud would blow itself out. It stands tall, waiting its next chance to play tag which is attempting to sneak up in the distance.
The mountain is patient with the clouds because it knows their ways. It knows this is a season for tag, so it plays along. The trees belong to the mountain, so they follow its lead as they dance in the afternoon storms. Not afraid, not moved they make the game into a dance. Each tree is swaying on its own in a forest full of dancers. Animals hide out waiting to see who wins the game, but soon they reappear and join the trees. Horses trotting, bunnies hopping, even the birds raise their voices once again. It is the song of summer which cycles over and over in refrain each day. It cleanses the air and makes breathing easier. It produces lush vegetation and fills the rivers that flow over the falls, renewing the valley. It brings the sounds of summer and breathes the breath of life into those who will listen. Do you hear it?