A blanket of stifling heat settles oppressively over the dusky canyons like a purgatorial blanket.
The air is completely still at 105 degrees and the swamp cooler quits working. Beads of sweat form on the forehead and begin to pour like rivers down the neck and chest. The serene song of the crickets rises to a disturbing crescendo of hundreds of thousands of creatures angrily protesting the oncoming assault, while charcoal colored thunderheads approach from the north. The dogs are barking. The soul is drawn outdoors to reconcile with a haunted stillness that feels as empty as a tomb. Who am I and what purpose do you have for me here?
The sun has fallen behind the mesa and new sounds join with the crickets. A wooden wind chime clatters fiercely, harmonizing with leaves which have begun their gusty slapping of one another. For several moments the hot wall of wind raises the mercury to 109, before the first huge icy drop lands on the skin. Then another…and another. Sheet-lightening moves in curving arcs like billowing curtains in a window, across an angry sky streaked with splashes of magenta, salmon and purple shafts of disappearing light. The human heart pounds with excitement and fear of the Great Spirit. Reverential awe, at the hugeness of Creation.
Thunder as loud as the heart can hold, crashes just east of the property and lightening shatters the rocks into blackened pebbles. What do You expect of me, my Master? Jagged fat bars of lightening dance atop the mesas in every direction like street gangs dancing on asphalt in the ghetto. The Thunder Beings have spoken.
A micro burst of circular wind hurls the lawn furniture into the side of the building and somewhere within the chaos of the storm a rooster can be heard crowing within the gathering darkness. How is this possible? I should exhale now. A large leafy tree-limb crashes into the porch and debris of every conceivable kind moves across the land and through the air. Then torrential rain pounds the earth with unforgiving fury leaving the air icy cold. Why am I here? Wet hair whips tangled spirals on the forehead and back of the neck and I realize the windows of the car are open and dash across the monsoon swept driveway to close them and save the inside of the car. I am a hero. A wet plastic bag attaches itself to my shoulder.
The power goes out and we are plunged into complete blackness, left to discern the sounds of mayhem. Breathing quickly and shivering deeply, I suddenly realize that I am a fool who stands as though I were naked before my Creator, barefoot outdoors in a raging storm and wildly alive! It’s a good day of sober life.
