March 28, 2024
Dark Storms
The night passed quickly, but when I awoke, I felt rested and ready to take on the day. After getting out of bed, I peeked between the blinds and saw a small herd of deer bedded down between the house and the barn. Most of the time, I saw deer when they were on the move, so witnessing the herd lying down in the grass felt like a rare treat. The dogs barked at the deer, rousing the animals, prompting the herd to move to the pasture to feed. My wife and I enjoyed a cup of hot coffee on the couch, looking out the window at the pouring rain.
After coffee, my wife moved to her office to register for her summer classes while I hammered away at the keyboard, seated at my desk. When I took a break to warm my wife’s car, a large hawk was flying low, skimming the pasture before heading into the grove. There was always a good chance of seeing the raptors hunting on rainy days. With my wife gone and writing session done, I put on a light rain jacket and headed into the woods for my morning walk.
It was raining hard, but when I stepped into the grove, the canopy of pines blocked most of the water. The frosty air smelled clean, and the water-soaked pine trunks looked black with irregular patches of speckled green and white mosses and fungi that grew on their thick bark. I stopped to take in the sound of geese flying overhead, hearing their faint honks while large raindrops popped against the hood of my rain jacket.
On the eastern side of the pine grove, a cleared lane between the trees towered on both sides of the path. The lane extended for several acres, producing a perfect vista of rows of large trees diminishing into the distance. This morning, I looked down the long lane and there were four deer standing in the row feeding. They gazed at me as I took in the scene.
As I moved north toward the creek, the rain picked up. I was happy to have my Salomon rain jacket. Although very thin, this light packable jacket was completely waterproof and breathed well, making the high price tag worth it. The jacket, a good hat, and my waterproof boots factored out any challenges of being out in the rain for long periods of time.
I made my way through the woods and caught an animal’s silhouette in my peripheral vision. To my left, a small black animal appeared, with its thick legs and stout midriff. It took my brain a few milliseconds to work through the surprise, but when I reevaluated the image, I realized the shape was an illusion made from two small trees in front of a tree stump. The angles had aligned perfectly to produce a shape my brain transformed into a wild animal. I laughed and kept moving. The raindrops sounded all around, falling on leaves on the trees and ground, popping against my raincoat and cap. Small beads of water formed on the brim, glowing from the ambient light, dripping away three and four drops at a time.
The creek, swollen from the rain, made loud rushing sounds. My mind flashed to a memory of waking up last night around two in the morning, hearing loud thunderclaps. In Texas, electrical storms were common and often produced severe lightning and cracks of thunder loud enough to shake your house. In North Carolina, however, thunder was relatively rare, despite receiving more rain each year.
On Beaver Tooth Rock, I sat in the icy rain for about forty minutes. I had sat in the rain in several places throughout my life, and this morning loosened memories of me sitting under a pouring sky in the backyard of my childhood home in Texas. My mind flashed to the weathering of storms while on the shores of Maui, the wetlands of Oregon, and in front of the Bahia de Mujeres in Puerto Juarez. Since I was a child, I enjoyed sitting in the rain, and the fiercer the storm, the better.
Weather was the most powerful force I witnessed as a small child, and the large storms with their pelting rain, howling winds, and flashes of lightning that burned the sky all made me tremble. It was a visceral reminder that I was small, powerless, and insignificant, something I found comforting. To me, it was a sign that all of my fears and worries were equally trivial. In the grand scheme of things, nothing really mattered. The biggest problems weren’t as indomitable as they seemed in my adolescent brain. And even if those dark things felt like they were trying to grip and suffocate me, I came to understand that they had no power at all. Letting go of fear’s power over me only had one price, the acceptance that I too was powerless and blowing whimsically out of control in fate’s winds.
I made my way through the woodland and into the grove and noticed the deer were gone. The smell of the wet pines mixed with petrichor was intoxicating. When I arrived home, I found my new Yeti coffee mug on the dining room table. I grabbed it, slid open the small opening on the lid, and sipped the liquid with delight. The coffee was still hot, and I felt like Max returning to his room, finding a hot dinner waiting after his adventures in Where The Wild Things Are, my favorite childhood book.
After work, I headed back into the forest to sit on Beaver Tooth Rock. I enjoyed my newfound sense of awareness while in the woods. I was ready for whatever nature presented, and loosened my reliance on my expectations, leaving a small door open for each moment to present itself anew. The rain fell softly, but the winds picked up and the tall trees in the forest were waving from the strong wind. I made my way back toward the house, knowing my wife would be home soon.
When I arrived in the central part of the forest, I spotted my wife walking in the woods searching for me. We were happy to see each other and felt happy that a three-day weekend had officially begun. We headed back toward the creek where I wanted her to see the swollen water. New beaver dams and heavy rain had filled the area with several rushing streams, while the water levels spilled over into the ravine that housed the creek.
I shot a few photos of my wife and of a tiny frog she found near the creek’s bank. The sun was setting on the west and its light cut through the woods, reflecting off the water, casting a soft golden beam of light down the forest’s westward trail. We admired the postcard view and talked about how lucky we felt to live in such a beautiful place. That moment, with the setting sun, silhouetted trees, and soft light bathing the forest, was the official ending of the workweek and the start of a weekend full of possibilities.