The Heart in the Storm Jay Jacobs

The Heart In The Storm

By Jay Jacobs

In the distance beyond the front porch the storm looms. A massive wall of lowering thunderheads filled with dark menace, it stretches across the horizon as far as the eye can see, an elemental mountain of water, air, fire and chaos in the sky threatening to strip the world bare. The first wave of gale force winds advance, unseen linebackers flattening the grassy field in straight line formation, closing in fast on the dubious defense of post, rail, and rickety old slat board. Mighty oak trees bend like saplings under the unrelenting maelstrom, sizzling white hot electricity cracks the sky, thunder explodes with deafening fury, torrential rain falls in drenching wind-blown blasts, the raging mad god Tempest run amok. Under the flimsy shelter of the shingle roof we watch in hypnotic fascination, mice gazing at the cobra about to strike. Curiously, the squall abruptly falters. One final gust of wind, a dying gasp as the few last raindrops wet the edge of the old wooden porch, and the storm disappears as suddenly as it arrived. With the lifting of the gray veil, brilliant shafts of golden sunlight alight upon the earth to coax the rising mist home to the blue firmament. I am sitting in Grandma’s lap, she in her rocking chair. In the calm after storm I hear the chair creak, a comforting, familiar sound amid the pleasant patter of friendly droplets falling from the rooftop. Rocking gently, humming softly, she holds me now as throughout the storm. I am in her care, safe and secure, and nothing can harm me. With arms of barely two years I hug her, a declaration of dependence, and love for my mother's mother, my Grandma.