Temperatures are back up into the 90s as we move into the last month of the summer in Minnesota. When the wind blows it’s like sucking up hot cotton into your mouth. You heave it back out and do a little gasp for relief. Stops for a cool drink, ice cream, and anything cold become routine. Adults envy children as they run through the sprinkler or drink from the garden hose. Mowing the lawn becomes a way to sweat off the pounds.
We’re not meant to be tropical here, and after the events around the world – I don’t think any of us are thinking of moving the coast any time soon. And the way things are going, we might not need to move here. I know someone who bought rocking chairs to sit and watch storms during the summer. She should have been storm chaser. Me – I’d rather watch it on TV.
Writing about stormy weather brings up to our next prompt. Write about getting caught in the rain, or being in the dark during a thunderstorm with someone you know, or a stranger. There’s no cell service or electricity. Write for 5-10 minutes about what happens.
Anna saw the storm clouds over the hills and knew the rain was coming. Her fingers pressed down on the metal handle. Just one more squeeze. Anytime there was a storm, her routine was the same. She made a pitcher of lemonade and sat in her grandmother’s rocking chair to watch thunderstorms pass over the farm fields. Her grandfather built the two rocking chairs by hand as an anniversary present because he knew her grandmother loved to sit and watch the rain.
Sipping on her grandmother’s lemonade on her grandfather’s lap was one of her favorite memories. They must have known that was a special time together because she inherited them when they passed away. The sound of the same old creaking, and rolling on the wood porch was as comforting as the sound of the first drops on the dry ground.
She swore she would never marry a farmer but like clockwork, Jon held open the door and took the tray from her before they both sat down. One evening, just before the rain started he sat down in her grandfather’s rocking chair and rocked with her. He didn’t say a word. He just poured himself a glass of lemonade and hummed her favorite song as the sound of the rain started to fall. She didn’t tell him to stop when he interrupted the first sounds of the rain. Her song was better than the arguments they had all week.
After his first storm on the porch, he apologized and told her he didn’t even remember why it started. He started joining her every time afterward. Sometimes, he was the one who told her a storm was coming. She used to laugh to herself as she pictured him with gray hair and belly like her grandfather.
Her eyes went over to him as she rocked back. The creases on his forehead were deeper, and the gray that started near his ears covered the top of his head. The only thing missing was his belly. Her eyes turned back to the fields and she closed her eyes. She knew was watching her. He always did.
They never said a word to each other as they rocked back and forth trying to match each other’s rhythm. They just listened as the first dust puffs formed on the ground from the rain. The sound on top of tin shed grew louder as the wind picked up and blew across her face. The smell of the wet drops filled the air and she smiled at the first rumble of thunder. One, two, three, four – a white crackle lit of the dark clouds.
The vibration of the rumble went up the legs of the rockers before the crackle of lightening. Flashes of light grew faster and more frequent through the dark sky but the sound of the curved legs kept a steady pace. The two of them never spoke. They just sat in silence. Once in a while she saw his eyes smile over at her, he knew this was her favorite part of the storm. This was part of growing old together.
She used to wonder why couples married for a long time stopped talking at the dinner table. Now, she knew. They knew each other so well, they didn’t need to fill the quiet. They were content in each other’s company, and knew each other’s thoughts. When the words like “I love you” were said, they meant more not less when they broke the silence. Him holding the door and sitting with her was enough. He was the kind of man that rarely sat still. Rocking back and forth in her grandfather’s chair was one of those rare times his foot didn’t tap the floor like a rushed rabbit. Like the rest of him, he knew this was her time. That was all she needed.
I hope you enjoyed my prompt today!
My posts are Monday through Friday. You can find a copy of my new Writer’s Journal at https://www.amazon.com/Writers-Journal-Writing-Prompts-Notes/dp/B0931QRL7C.
~Yoon Ju
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