Subconsciously I listen to the thunder and lightening building in my dreams. Then the splashing of the first raindrop wakes the mother in me. It sounds like hail. Sitting up I remember all the loose ends left in the yard: the stroller, rolled down windows, and forgotten toys. I leap out of bed. Flashes of light lead me downstairs, through the new moon’s night. Outside the rain feels cool against my naked skin. The earth is still dry beneath my feet. I move quickly in the darkness, paying attention to my surroundings when the storm’s flashing lights let me see. As I stand up in the back of the truck, I feel the storm building. Like eyes on the back of my neck, I know a lightening bolt is watching me. I stand tall and face the sky, letting raindrops fall on my face. The flash. The boom. Dashing inside, I feel the change. The tension releases and rain falls harder. Again the lightening leads me upstairs and into bed. I lie there listening to the rain, returning as if from a dream, dampened.
- Roslyn Imrie
- I am a mother, a teacher, and a nature lover. I grew up on a mountain we called Owls' Knob in the Ozarks of Arkansas. The first seven years of my life were spent living in a log cabin, far from a store or streetlight, without electricity or running water and after twenty years of travel, I returned to the abondoned homestead. Now I live on a hill by a small lake and work at a public garden. These are stories about nature written from a women deeply influenced by place.