Lightning

Alisa D.

It was the June of 2015, midday. A grandmother and her two granddaughters decided to go for a walk around their new neighborhood. Having grabbed the red stroller and stuffed the little one-year-old in there, they exited the mouth of the two-story white house and set off down the slanted driveway. After crossing the street, they were met with a cute park. A small lake surrounded by a winding trail, going up and over the hills. Bordered by cute, cozy houses and green birch trees. The air was warm but gray, and the sky frowning with foaming blue storm clouds. The red stroller made soft grinding sounds as it passed over the many gray pebbles scattered on the old sidewalk. The whole area felt new to the little sevenyear-old and her grandmother, who took it in with big eyes. They hadn’t been walking long when the grandmother took up a Russian song from an old children’s cartoon. The seven year-old joined in, and they sang as they trooped up and over the large hill, and above the little lake dotted with figures of feathered ducks. The sky was starting to grow angry, the air felt humid. The grandmother kept saying that it was about time to get home, and the seven-year-old agreed, hoping it wouldn’t rain on their heads. They were almost around the lake when big, fat raindrops started falling. At first one, then another. The grass looked greener, and the sky a darker shade of cold blue. The charcoal-gray pavement underfoot was darkened by the little fallen circles of rain, bleeding into and between the cracks, crevices and bumps. The green birch trees swayed, and water attacked skin as the grandmother, granddaughter and stroller hurried down the path, steps falling on the old and graying sidewalk. The raindrops were falling faster now, in a pattern of furious nature. Past the cute yellow house, past the tall evergreen, and now, (quick, quick!) up the driveway to the two-story white house. Barely having made it into the garage before the air reverberates from a loud crash of thunder, such a guttural earth sound. The garage door closes on the wet, warm outside air.