"Our Shelter from the Storm"

           The late afternoon sky darkened as gray clouds scuttled across the sun. The calm, hot air pressed down upon me like a woolen blanket, and a film of perspiration glazed my skin as I perched on the top step of our porch. The front screen door swung open and slapped shut as Charlie bounded out of the house like a wide-eyed and excited puppy. His little three-year-old body hunched down next to me, and I inhaled the sweetness of his youth.

          Casually, I slung my arm around Charlie’s shoulders, and he tucked in closely to me. In those few seconds, the temperature noticeably dropped a few degrees. A breeze rifled through the leaves of the ancient gnarled oak that towered across the street. A sharp, metallic scent enveloped us, and a chill swept over me.

          “Storm’s comin’,” murmured Charlie.

           “Um.”

           “Good!” he smiled and shifted from his squat, splaying his little feet out before him.

          The tiny hairs on my arms pricked to attention as the wind picked up. The clouds overhead deepened from their soft gray to a harsh charcoal. Thunderheads boiled and bubbled; and thunder, sounding in the distance, rumbled closer with each passing minute. A faint scent of popcorn wafted through our front screen door.

"The Storm" by David Chapman

           One enormous drop of rain plopped on the side walk. Then another. And another. And another. The heavy smell of dust mingled with the green scent of freshly mowed grass. As lightning cut a jagged ridge across the darkening sky, Mom and Paula stepped out of the house and “oohed” at nature’s fireworks. Charlie and I scooted over to squeeze Paula in next to us since she hugged a huge Tupperware of popcorn to her chest. Mom leaned against the porch’s post and turned her face to the fine spray that misted up from the nearby gardenias.

I dipped my eager fingers into the overflowing bowl and pulled out a huge handful of the warm treat. Without a word, I offered Charlie the popcorn. His small hand filled with only five pieces; he sighed in buttery contentment.

           Together we viewed the magnificence of the storm. We murmured our appreciation of the show, and thought of the war in a distant land that displayed its power and destruction on the evening news. My thoughts went to Dad, so far away in his own storm, and I moved closer to Paula for her warmth.

            We nestled safe and dry in our shelter from the storm.

Copyright 1995 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

"Twilight at Two"

 

Metal swathed the sky, muffling birdsong with a north wind’s sigh   

Drops splatted, engorged, against the windows   

Miniature rivulets snaked down the glass   

The double bass drum reverberated, vibrating the air with tension   

Breaking open the sky   

Twilight at two   

Time to strike wooden matches, to inhale subtle sulfur   

Pad from room to room lighting clustered candles   

Genuflecting before each tiny flame     

Celebrating the charm of enlightenment     

Jasmine, cranberry, lavender eucalyptus trail through the house   

A wake of scent drifting within the pools of light   

Shadows soothe as rain song hums in harmony   

Copyright 2012 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

“Ice”

 

            Grabbed my camera yesterday to document yesterday’s rare weather event—ICE! My friends and family living in northern regions experience winter’s wonders with nonchalance, but for those of us in the south, we pause to marvel at the beauty of frost, snow or ice.

Copyright 2022 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman  

     

“Puddle Reflections”

         Rain pounded our roof a couple of nights ago with a rhythmic beat that lulled me into a deeper sleep. Our parched earth must have sighed in relief as the water fell. At first, the soil sucked the moisture below the surface, a dry sponge soaking in every drop. As the rainfall continued, the water began to pool into puddles. With morning light, small mirrors decorated the ground. These miniature ponds delighted me as they symbolized satisfaction. Our Mother’s thirst sated after months of want.  

          One small puddle near the back door, which translates into muddy paw prints on my carpet, made me smile instead of groan. A little mud after our months of drought seems a small price to pay. I keep my fingers crossed that the grass that once grew in this spot returns with the spring (and possibly more rain.)

          Nature offers her interpretation of sky and leaf. The littlest things life provides, like unexpected puddles of rain, refresh a flagging spirit. The promise of Spring rests with each pooled drop.

The sky and trees reflected by the shallow rainwater brought me joy. The night's storm left the leaves shimmering and clean, a natural baptism. The inches of water resting upon our Mother represents rebirth in the weeks to come.

Copyright 2012 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman

"Restoration"

I lay prone   

            nose to mother earth   

                        a worshipper submitting   

                                    passion and passiveness     

                                              flowing into her with each drop of rain   

I roll   

            onto my back   

                        spread-eagle   

                              opening up   

                                 matching my heartbeat to the sky’s percussion
 

I sit   

            offering my face     

                        to wind and rain   

                                    drops melt my sorrows away   

                                              purifying me with the holiest of waters  

I stand   

            with arms outstretched   

                        conducting lightning like a symphony   

                                    waves and waves roll over me   

                                                cleansing me of life’s dust and debris

Copyright 2011 Elizabeth Abrams Chapman