Monsoon

Photo Credit: Flickr Creative Commons by Mike Fisher

Afternoon threats made good. Skies groaned with thunder, lightning streaked its warning bolts across the grey clouds, hail pounded down. Tomato plants like arrogant trees–too tall to be strictly useful–leaned over flat and kissed the ground. Crop covers twisted and blew. Ducks quacked. Chickens clucked. Coyotes, somewhere, howled. Just a normal summer afternoon in the high desert mountains. Out-of town visitors stood agape. Pools closed and dripping children wrapped in towels bundled into cars and were hurried home.

The best time of the year is the season when thermal drifts like angry gods battle one another in the sky, clapping thunder as their swords clash. Grasses green up and the world is wet and an hour later, dry. Steam barely rises but is consumed by an open-mouthed and thirsty earth. Remain close to home where you can straighten out your garden and protect your dog. Remember that lightning can come in through your pipes and murder you while you stand sonorous in your shower, soaking off the day. Stay alert.

Monsoon. The name is like a song sung in gentle warning and in lullaby. Monsoon. Monsoon. Too soon, it will be gone again. Until then, stay alert.