In the Silence of the Day

I woke up this morning to the sound of thunder rolling across the hills.  It was a slow drone that seemed to fill the air you breathed.  My husband had just gotten up and was preparing to meet a friend to work on a new butcher block for the kitchen, while me and the dog still laid in bed in that twilight somewhere between sleep and awake.  It was a still morning; still is.  One of the kind that make you feel like if you move too fast, you might accidentally stir something up, and awake the farm in a flurry of commotion.  A morning where you seem to walk gently and purposefully as you do your morning chores.

I checked the weather channel on my iPhone before I got out of bed to see what kind of weather I could be expecting (we still appreciate some of this fancy technology here on the farm) and was excited to see that we had a severe thunderstorm warning listed.  I love thunderstorms!  But when I turned to look at the map, I found that it looked like nothing more than a tiny red, orange, and green burp in the sky.  Oh well.  Another day perhaps.  I got up anyway.  Might as well at least enjoy the morning chores as the burp passed.

An hour later and that thunder can still be heard passing over hills and through fields, but the sun has broken through the clouds now and chickens are fancying their nest boxes and fussing when one of their fellow hens seems to be taking too long.  I appreciate these exaggerated mornings.  They give us time to reflect.  The storms long gone now, and though the Weather Channel says there's a 40% chance of rain all day, the movement of the radar seems to indicate otherwise.  Then again, I'm no meteorologist.  So we'll just have to wait and see.