We Stood Close

I watched the rolling skies last night. The water fell upon us with a steady fury. The lightning split the sky like broken glass. From the safety of my porch… water splashed up on my feet leaving the feeling of humid stickiness.

My Grandfather grew up in the deserts of Arizona and would wait with anticipation for the torrent of nature to fall to the earth. We would stand with him on his porch that usually stood in place to protect us from the sun. We would watch the dark, thunderous clouds cascade over the mountain range.

We could smell the sweet and heavy aroma of the winds that absorbed the heat and dust of the parched earth around us. It would throw itself on our faces and swirl around our heads. The temperature of the air fell in gusts that hit our skin in layers. Small swirls of sand and desert debris scattered themselves in every direction and gathered our attention away from the clouds.

The thunder clouds reflected the light as they muscled themselves in the upper atmosphere. Grandfather would stare into the sky hoping that this time the winds would be kind. The texture of colors in the dark and light clouds gave way to the steady gray of water that made its way to our porch. The rain came in heavy drops that spattered the dust under the intermittent pattern of rain… then it would come to us… the wind was replaced by rain… the rain he remembered from his youth.

There was the smile that I remember… the smile of gratitude on his stubbled face… the smile of contentment. We changed in those years. We learned to respect the rain. We learned to stay on the porch and wait for the blessing. We stood close… the rain splashed up on our feet and left that humid stickiness that I will never forget.

I now find myself drawn to my own porch when the storms crawl upon me. I pull my head to the air and search for the aromas of the desert. My children pull themselves outside with me... and we stand close...

Shannon R Killman