This week as the boys napped and Bean lay beside me, I listened to a storm. It felt like such a luxury having that moment to myself, and it triggered memories of storm watching from my bedroom window years ago when life was very different.
Then: The rain pounds hard. I am like a child holding on between worlds. I peer up through the attic window there are no clouds only grey. Waves of nausea and water sloshing and earth spinning. Drops catapult and smash. Outside the hum of life, the ebb and flow, and everyone but me. Muted by water. I barricade in and I will lay and I will wait for this storm to pass. Please God.
Now: The heavens open. My children sleep. I fill my lungs with changing air. A thousand cockroaches charge at the glass. The world is a stream flowing beneath my window: from light to dark, and still to cool, thunderous clap, to splashing feet, barking dog, screeching car, and bicycle bells, and children home for summer.
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