Storm

The night sky becomes like midday as the lightning flashes. The thunder shakes the trees and I can feel it rumble through the rafters of the house. The night is anything but quiet but there seems to be something comforting about the chaos of a summer storm. Some people are terrified of nature, but I just accept it as part of the cycle of life. I turn off the lights and lite a few candles. The wind howls outside my kitchen window. A cup of warm tea and I settle into a chair to look out the window. I can hear the rain falling on the roof of the back porch. It sounds like a thousand small drums beating in a distince rhythm. It is times like this that I get inspired and feel most alive. Despite the fact that my family is in the house, I like to sit alone and just imagine what being part of a strom must be like. The power of the wind, the fierceness of the lightning breaking the air. The echoing across of the heavens of the thunder. I like to think that two mighty rams are butting heads, at least that is what my grandmother used to tell me as a child. Two mighty rams were fighting for position on a mountain. Their heads butting would make the earth shake and the lighting was from them making contact with each other. I keep stories like that in my heart. Despite the fact I have children of my own, keeping a child like perspective is essential in a world filled with such drab conflicts. If I ever forget my own past, I fear I will completely grow up and then I will no longer be myself.

The wind has abated a bit but the storm is far from over. I keep looking into the sky getting glimpses of the clouds as lightning jumps from one to another. The rain has formed puddles in my back yard. Come first light, I will not be able to contain my children from going out and making a mess. I did go and check on them a little while ago. Both are snug in their beds with their favorite stuffed animals and the family dog laying quiet between the beds like some kind of invisible sentinel. I am walking around in my oversized socks and night shirt. I finish my tea as I contemplate where my imagination is taking me. I head to my studio to the side of the house. I have an amazing skylight to catch the morning sun but now, it rattels at the distant thunder and the lightning reflects through the glass creating ghostly images. I choose to light more candels instead of turning on the electric lights. I put up a canvas on my easel and pick up a brush. I close my eyes and take in the sounds of the rain and the wind and the roar of the distant thunder. It sounds like the roaring of a far off dragon. I touch the paint palet and begin to let my hands move across the canvas, one brush stroke then another. It is as if I am channeling the storms rhythm. I finish with one brush then pick up another. I change colors and then blend colors along a fine line. Not enough to create a new fusion mind you but just a simple overlap to bring life to the picture I have formed in my mind. As I get lost in the work, I feel like I am traveling with the storm. My mind races into the heavens to pull out images that I have seen. I am almost lost to the world around me, then I feel a cold nose push up my leg. I look down as my illusion is lost, the dog has come to find me. This can only mean one thing, one of my children needs me. So I put the brush down and follow the trusted watcher into the childrens room where I find my youngest looking at me with the I need something gaze. So is it the bathroom or the kitchen? I have to go and I want a cup of water. So to the bathroom and then to a cold cup of spring water from the pitcher in the fridge. The soft white light illuminates my childs mussed hair and the panting of the trusty guard dog, where is my treat the dog looks at me with longing. A dog biscuit from the cubboard will suffice. Then I have to water him and off to bed with the both of you. I have to create something that I have captured in my mind before it escapes like the quickly fading storm.

I return to my studio and look at the canvas only half complete. In the flickering candel light the shadows change the image before me. I have to refocus myself. The storm is running away from me as is the image I created in my mind. So close my eyes and sit quietly, gather the thoughts the images and sounds. I open my eyes and find my brush again. I find my rhythm and begin to create the picture I imagine. One stroke then another, pulling out the images that I have captured in my minds eye. Wait, why is there a dog in my mind. No no no, get out of my head! I am not painting the dog! Focus I tell myself, the previous interuption has clouded my mind. Yes the dog is cut but he is not the passion. He isn't the storm. I try to relax but then I begin to see a new series of images. The dog can be a storm, he can terrorize a squirrel or the neighbors cat. He can be a whirlwind of excitement. I am not sure where this is going but I see the clouds an imagine a dog not a dragon roaring from horizon to horizon. I thought I had lost my inspiration but it has just chosen a different path. The brush moves instinctually in my hand. I spread out the lines like fine points, like dog hair adrift in the wind. I hate that dog but love him at the same time. My original vision of the storm has been changed. The painting changes as well. One event can change the course of a river and one thing can change your focus. The storm is fading into the distance but I am still refining my work. A line a dash of color there, almost done. Finally as the last vestiges of the storm begin to fade, I am exhausted, it is 4 am and I set my brush aside. I must let the painting dry and wait for the sun. I will have to judge in natural light if I am captured the essence of the vision I originally had or if I have simply painted my frustration with a lovable nusiance that is a storm in his own right. Only the coming day will tell the tale.