Storm, 1992.

I wrote this in 1992, when I lived up on twin Peaks in San Francisco. I thought this was a good day to publish it...

  I lit my Cigarette from the Candle that was burning on the nightstand. 

It seemed important somehow, right. 

I took a drag, and held it for a moment, and listened to the Storm outside. 

As I blew out the Smoke, the House shook, as if a drunken giant were outside, attempting to steady himself by leaning against the Wall. 

There was a sudden crash as another trashcan went over, following the example of others out on the Street. 

   I got up and walked out into the darkened living room, and stood, looking out over the City. 

Lights twinkled, trees whipped this way and that, and rain poured against the window like a forgotten sprinkler. The wind shook the house again, and I watched the big windows flex in and out, almost appearing to breath. 

"Damn" I muttered.

 I went into the kitchen to make some hot chocolate. 

By the sound of it, the Storm was getting worse.

I hope I can sleep tonight,  I thought.

Damn. I must be getting old. 

Storms.

   I remember when I was a kid, I always loved storms.

When they would get bad, my parents always got out the Sleeping-Bags, and would have us kids sleep under the kitchen table. My mother was terrified that a window would blow in, or worse, a tree fall on the house.

I loved those nights "camping out" in the kitchen, peeking out from under the table to watch the sky light up outside, and hearing the thunder roll through the valley.  Sometimes it was so loud the piano in the living room would hum from the vibrations. 

    There was a knock at my door.

  I got up and answered it to find My House-Mate. "Yeah?" I asked. 

"Some Storm, Huh?" she said. 

I chuckled, "Yeah, yeah it is." 

"Say," She asked, " Could You make sure I wake up, before You go to work in the morning?" 

"Yeah, Ok," I replied, "Sure". 

   She said thanks, and went back to her room.

   I closed my door, sat back down on the bed, and lit another Cigarette from the candle and listened to the rain.

   And as I sat, I thought about how in the seconds before I had opened the door, for a fleeting moment, a tiny ageless spot in my mind had hoped that it would be my parents with the sleeping bags.