It Was A Dark and Stormy Night

It Was A Dark and Stormy Night

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            Here in this high plateau valley surrounded by mountains, in the rainy season, roughly mid-June through mid-October, the sky bursts with pyrotechnic activity nearly every night.

            I like storms. I like the beauty of lightning skittering across night sky. I like the rumble of thunder. Storms do not scare me. I admit, there are times I’ve nearly jumped out of my skin at a sudden clap of thunder directly overhead but that is simply a startle reflex.  

            Rain pounding on the roof comforts me. I like when morning sunrise reveals a sparkling, fresh, newly washed world.  I admit it felt a bit daunting to me a few nights ago when the sky broke and all hail fell through. But that was a one-off.

            Last night was different. Oh, it began ordinarily enough. I climbed into bed to surround sound, comforting rumbles and grumbles overhead which often goes on for hours. Though early enough for ambient light, the night was extremely dark, except for panoramic lightning.

            Strangely, no night birds called across the trees. No crickets chirped. The night felt ominously still, devoid of life. Not a leaf quivered. I had not yet fallen asleep when I heard the noise, a roaring, almost a presence, moving across the valley.

            Some say it sounded like a train. Or a flight of airplanes. But it was more than noise. The blast of wind held a strangeness, almost like it had a mind and body. The closer it came, the louder it sounded, a monster of the dark.

            That wind scared me, nailed me to my bed, heart pounding, covers pulled snugly over my head, afraid to move the entire time it roared overhead, seemingly forever. I could hear the leaves screaming as they were ripped from tree branches.

            Iguanas and squirrels and birds and crickets and all manner of wildlife huddled in burrows and nests, heads tucked against danger.

And then the rogue wind, carrying all it had gathered, was gone, blowing into the mountains of Nayarit, leaving silence. Not a drop of rain fell. The air felt like all the energy had been sucked out of the night and spirited away.

            The walls of my house stood solid. I had not been carried off to Oz. That wizard wind had come and gone. Lizards crawled out of rocks and tested the air with their tongues. I uncovered my head and we all waited for sunrise.

            Well, one’s world will look different in the morning. Maybe not better, not worse, but different.

            My world was carpeted, littered, thick with scraps of bougainvillea, bits of leaf and tree debris, a few small branches.  Buckets I use in gardening were strewn about.  We all, me and my lizards and such, held our breath until mid-morning. By noon the skies were filled with birdsong.

            A journey to Oz it was not. But like Dorothy and her cohorts, I probably already have all the heart, brains and courage I need, despite hiding my head under the covers in the dark night.

Sondra Ashton

HDN: Looking out my back door

July 11, 2019

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I Love A Rainy Night

        I Love A Rainy Night

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            By the time I got from beneath my covered patio to my front door, a few steps, I was drenched and dripping rain. Already the floor filled with standing water, a shallow lake, half-way across the room. Not even a minute had passed.

            The sky opened. No warning. Oh, sure, I’d heard a few rumblings from the mountains on the other side of town. Nothing serious. No gentle drops to precede the deluge. Suddenly, the wind whipped in circles and buckets of water fell, whipped in all directions, finally settling into a horizontal push from the east.

            The storm raged only long enough for me to shed my wet clothing for dry, towel my hair, wipe down cabinets, sop up the wet floors with bath towels, maybe half an hour.

            Later in the night, I heard soft rainfall out my bedroom window, gentle, light.

            Rainy season announced itself a mere week ago, following a month of intense searing heat.  The middle-of-the-night storm woke me with a lightning strike that lifted me off my bed, heart pounding, adrenaline coursing through my body. The special effects were more than worthy of Hollywood’s best. 

            And we’ve had rain every night since. I love it.  Like in the song lyrics, it makes me feel good. And the average daily temperatures plunged from fry-eggs-on-concrete down to pleasurable.

            Our hot season is over and done. Back to perpetual spring until next May.

            There is no set schedule to the storms. This morning I have laundry on the line, wafting in the gentle breeze. I’m eyeing the lowering sky apprehensively, knowing if rain falls now, well, the clothing will be wet again, a rainwater rinse.

            Generally, the rains are an evening event. Clouds roll in from both east and west around 4:00. It might rain early. It might rain late.

            Last Saturday night, while apprehensively scanning the dark sky, Jim, Crinny and I went to the Plaza in the evening, after sunset. The Plaza is always crowded Saturday nights, more so this night. We had just missed a political rally, with party supporters attired in orange shirts.

We knew we might get wet. But we were on a mission. Jim had discovered that one of the food stands served crepes. He’d promised us a treat and he didn’t disappoint.

I had strawberries and kiwi in my crepe, topped with vanilla ice cream. We all chose different variations, fruits, toppings of caramel and chocolate. We argued, “My crepe is better than your crepe.” Practicing heroic restraint, we managed to resist licking our plates, just barely.

We made it home, dry and satisfied. I woke in the night to a steady hard rain pounding my roof. I woke in the morning to a sunny day with a song in my heart, with a smile on my face.

I do love a rainy night, and who cannot love the sunny days? The green is greener. All colors are more intense. If I’ve nothing else to do, I can watch grass grow. My elephant ear plants, normally huge, doubled in size this week. Weeds grow apace. The cicadas have stopped their noise-makers. 

What’s not to love?

Sondra Ashton

HDN: Looking out my back door

June 14, 2018

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