Storms send us to the cellar. We take flashlights, candles, water. Tornado season is upon us. After the rain lets up, thunder and lightning recede, and wind dies down, we blow out our candles and head up the stairs to the house.

We sit on the porch awhile happy that we’ve weathered another storm. The birds come back to the feeders. A woodpecker calls in the trees beyond the orchard. Tree frogs take back up slowly their chirping rhythms.

Mosquitoes are worn from the wind but in a bit they run us inside with their stings. We have enjoyed the wind sweeping the trees and jingling the chimes. We have drunk in the cool scent of rain-washed air.

The flowers in their beds are leaning but by morning will be back up and renewed, faces to the sun and blooming bright. Raindrops drip from their petals and roll down their leaves like tears of relief.

Goodnight, farm.

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