4.20.2006...
storm clouds threaten, the air is thick and heavy, pressing down here at the compound. the dog romps in the shadows, patrolling the outskirts of the grounds, one eye on the gathering turmoil above. I watch from dirty windowpanes, look out over the dimming purple evening.
as the rain begins I head out and call the dog inside. I stand for a moment and watch the fat drops fall. thunder crawls across the greyblack cloudscape. ragged lightning erupts in splinters above pine and oak, above the new green growth suddenly illuminated by the pink stroke of fire in the sky. the dog growls low.
then we are back inside, sheltered from the downpour. for now.
who knows how long this violence will last?
as the rain begins I head out and call the dog inside. I stand for a moment and watch the fat drops fall. thunder crawls across the greyblack cloudscape. ragged lightning erupts in splinters above pine and oak, above the new green growth suddenly illuminated by the pink stroke of fire in the sky. the dog growls low.
then we are back inside, sheltered from the downpour. for now.
who knows how long this violence will last?
posted by christopher cunningham at 7:02 PM
2 Comments:
i do.
forever.
or at least some form of violence. if not this, then another. if not that, another.
i miss those southern thunderstorms you so beautifully depicted. they are truly powerful and mystical displays of force. out here in the mountain west, we get pitiful thunderstorms (rarely) and when there is thunder it isn't rolling and booming, but tinny and flat (as if we live in a rusty-out aluminum can tossed along the side of desolate highway).
hell, we've even something called virga where the rain evaporates BEFORE it hits the ground. damnedest thing you'll ever see.
so, yeah, there'll always be some form of violence in our lives. just as there'll always be some form of peace. it's when the two converge (like a thunderstorm) where true creation begins.
yes and the rain continued into today, big echoing thunder and sudden illumination of sharp lightning bolts behind the curtain.
suffering and moments of peaceful reflection...
the essence of creation. very nicely noted, sir.
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