Devonne Brown

I was so glad to be home. The kids at school couldn’t have jumped any higher or harder on my last nerves. Our classroom was big enough to accommodate three times as many students, between their loud voices and their perpetually moving bodies they took up every square inch of it. Getting them in their seats and quiet was like playing whack-a-mole. 

It was not only obvious that the moon was full, but the weather reports said a major storm was brewing. Both factors had a terrible effect on their behavior. Not only that, my bones and joints ached, especially my right knee and shin. I could make money predicting weather off of those two body parts.

But the day was finally over and I was in my home, ensconced in the family room, computer on my lap, butt in my big blue chair surrounded by blue curtains, looking at greening trees blowing in the wind. What should have been a blue sky was white with angry grey clouds dancing the polka in its infinity. 

The wind grew stronger and a log hit the roof of the family room. The tornado sirens began to blow. The trees bent. My son and I ran outside to see if we could see a funnel cloud, or watch the wicked witch of the west ride by on her bicycle or broomstick like in the Wizard of Oz. We were so disappointed. Nothing but red buds from the neighbor’s japonica bush whizzed by our heads. 

The tornado sirens continued to blow. Loud and long they came from the flat part of our town. No rain or hail hit us, though we could see clouds open up in the distance and dump their contents on the dwellings down below. Thunder and lightning accompanied the wail of the sirens, a chorus of disaster rang out against a storm we couldn’t feel, save for the drops of rain that became increasingly stronger. They drove us back inside to watch from the doorway and windows. 

The windchimes danced in the wind, playing a melancholy waltz on the porch as leftover fall leaves swirled back onto the porch for the thousandth time already this spring. No matter when I blow them, they always migrate back to the porch. Perhaps they feel safe there, somewhere they won’t decompose. 

More thunder and lightning further away, the rain subsided, and the sirens stopped. Perhaps the storm pushed my wildflower seeds deeper into the ground and started their growth. April showers bring May flowers, tornado sirens or not.