Morning After the Storm…

Craning my neck back, halting in my step, looking up at the clear blue sky. It’s so clear, clean and crisp. With wisps of white clouds floating like threads of silk, accentuating the different colours of light to deep glorious blue. It’s so mesmerizingly perfect.

You’d think it’d been years since we’d seen a blue sky.

But the storm hit so hard last night it rocked the house – literally. Glass windows rattled in their mouldings. The roof seemed to groan under the pressure. Foundations slightly trembled underfoot. Our hearts pounded while sweaty palms covered our ears and our bodies braced against each roaring rumble of thunder.

Lightning crackled, you could feel the intense electricity building in the air with each pending strike. Skin crawled as the hairs on the back of the neck stood to attention. Our eyes involuntarily closed from the brilliant ‘blue’ strikes. No delicate white forked fingers of lightning with this storm. No, these powerful blue-bolts illuminated the night, creating an eerie spotlight effect. All the while praying the concentrated voltage wouldn’t hit the house.

But as fast as the intense storm struck with ferocious whipping-winds and immovable walls-of-rainwater flooding the earth –   it was gone.

Had we experienced a tornado?

No. It was just an extremely aggressive storm cell, according to the weather guy on the radio. Typical for this time of the year.

Craning my neck I watch the perfect ‘V’ formation of the large, black and white Magpie Geese. About thirty of them, gliding in the sky, heading further inland to the wetlands close-by. Having sheltered here the night, they did well to hang in those trees, considering the number of fallen branches that lie scattered beside their trunks.

Imagine their aerial view, seeing the remnants and the destructive path of last night’s storm?

Nah, you don’t want to know. Blissful ignorance is best. You’d want to be admiring that spectacular skyline, enjoying that cooling breeze, inhaling that fresh clean air.

Because it wouldn’t be long and the humidity will be back biting-like-a-bitch. Already feeling that temperature rising. Watching the clouds building on the horizon. The storms will be returning and the promise of a monsoon not far away.

Sadly, too-soon, destroying the serenity, would be the sounds of mowers waging war on the ever-growing grass or you’d hear the ear-splitting whine of chain saws slashing through fallen tree limbs.

All so typical of the ‘Wet-Season’.

But right now – this early morning, after that storm, this moment is a pure peaceful piece of paradise.

A Frivolous Futile Folly

“Egads, I’ve done it.” He smirked, teething the unlit pipe, and eyed the seated guests. The dining table was illuminated by flittering candlelight from the gleaming silver candelabras, as more distorted light filtered through glistening crystal glasses. Scented roses and delicate lush port aromas lingered. Deformed shadows cowered in corners away from dull glowing gas lanterns. Inside, the room was warm, outside rain battered at the windows as the wind howled this squally night.

“B-b-but…” stammered one of the five seated witnesses.

“Enough of the garrulous natter,’ he said, perching his elbow on the mantelpiece that showcased the crackling fire. “With utmost vigilant deductions, by Jove, the truth will be told.”





He raised his palm to silence his audience. ““Please, ladies and gentlemen… After a fashion, my superb genius has analysed the clues within this scandalous illusion.” He shook his fist as his voice ascended. “I now publish the author of this crime.” He then paused with an eyebrow raised.

“Get on with it, man.”

“It was the vagabonding bohemian with his squalid labyrinth of a madman’s mind belonging to…” He pointed to the other end of the room and all heads swivelled to the empty doorway. “The Butler.”

“There’s no butler, ya bloody fool, ” muttered the matriarch, rising from her seat.

“Humbug.” Lifting his chin, he waved his unlit pipe. “Then the maid–”

“I aint puttin’ up with this codswallopin’ pony-posin’ any longer. I did it. Me.” She cuffed the young man around the ear. “Get back in ya seat.”

With grey eyes, he glared at her seated onlookers. “Shame on you lot not solvin’ it without none of your CSI’n Googlin’. So, let’s do somethin’ simpler with this party. Who’s up for a game of  Monopoly until the electricity comes back on?”

(300 words)



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