Sleepy Storm

Your tiny part of the world is darkening. The wind blows heavily, a chill in the warm balmy early summer air. Rushing in floral perfume from the outside, a hint of ozone that tell-tale sign of a storm on-coming. Or at least you hope. The earth is dry. There is dust on the wood porch. It's been too long since a good rain. The garden looks dry, you're holding off watering because the scent of rain is more convincing than the oft-wrong meteorologist. The kitchen is small. The tile on the floor is soft gray. The cabinets are white; freshly painted. The back splash is small green glass tiles – an excellent find. Fresh cut flowers sit on a counter. A cup of tea is brewing. You stand near it, face over it, you breathe in the fragrant steam and for that moment all you smell is that heady notes of it. What are you drinking? [[Chamomile and Mint with Honey.]] [[Lemon Cupcake Herbal with a dash of Milk.]] [[Green tea with Honey.]]

You're drinking Chamomile with mint and honey, sweet and calming for both your mind and your stomach. You give it one final stir and the wind chimes on the back porch tell once more of the encroaching storm. You like the chimes. Especially in heavy wind. You lock the backdoor from the kitchen, knowing already the other doors are locked. All of the windows are shut, prepared for rain. The house is warm and too still. You take your tea and your book off the kitchen table as well and you meander out of the kitchen and down a hallway. The wooden flooring is old and scuffed and perfectly in tune. No creaks. Just your soft dulled foot falls as you go down it. Then up a set of stairs, they creak just a bit from age but you know they are fine. The wind howls against the house. It reminds you of days gone by. Another life. Up the stairs and down a hallway. Really this house is too big for just one person like yourself but you love the airy feeling. It's so open, so many windows, the house is light. It feels like a house that once held so much love. There are large windows, closed currently with gauzy white curtains. You open the door to your bedroom. The master bedroom. It's large and spacious and your bed sits against a wall, you've piled pillows against said wall. In fact the bed is a bit cluttered with pillows. Next to it is your night stand with a lamp and a clutter of books and other such things. You've got a narrow closet at one end of the room and a small bathroom. You push the books to one side of the table, straightening them so they don't careen off onto the floor. Thunder rumbles eagerly outside. The first peals of it and it shakes you to the base of your spine and there is a flash of lightning, you can tell because for a moment the dark outside world lights up brightly. You open the window over your bed before you get into it with your cup of tea and your book – cool fresh air washing over you and your linens.

Your inner timer goes off and you pull your tea bag free from the hot water and drop it into the sink carefully. Next a spoon of sugar is stirred into the piping hot lemony and coconut smelling tea. Then a splash of milk. Just a bit to make it creamy. Which it is. White swirls in the pale tea that makes the tea rapidly milky. You give it a few more stirs, enjoying the way the milk and the tea becomes one. You pick up the cup and breathe in even more. It's sweet. You dare not risk a sip though with it so hot. You wrap both hands around it and you leave the kitchen. You wander out and through the living room. You pass by your library and stop at the double door and consider going inside to enjoy your tea. Outside the first peal of thunder sounds, shaking the house and yourself as well. You love a good storm. Even if it reminds you of older times. Times when you didn't live in a nice open house with lovely wood flooring that doesn't creak under your bare feet. You take a breath. You keep walking. You want to enjoy the storm and what better place than the front porch. Through the living room then. With it's large windows to let in sunlight though now shut for the evening hours. You step out onto the front porch. It's covered and you're glad of that. It's enclosed as well. No annoying insects will bother you as it's 'walls' are made of screening and you have a wonderful view of the dark countryside. You don't bother to turn on the light. Instead you light a citronella candle on the table and you settle into a wicker chair with a cushion. The darkness is warm, lit by the candle's light and the wind causes it to flicker wildly but it won't go out. You are treated to the first visual representation of the storm, a flash of lightning in the distance. You can hear your chimes on the back porch ringing wildly. You sink into your chair and enjoy the change in atmospheric pressure.

You know just when to pull the tea bag out of the mug and you put it in the sink to deal with later. You add a spoonful of honey. Then another spoonful of honey. You consider a third but decide that perhaps you don't need honey tea and should actually drink the tea where you can taste the tea part of it. You keep stirring your tea and you look around the kitchen. Enjoying it and it's comfortableness, pleased with yourself for the colors. The spaciousness of it. You think of cramped dark places and then banish the thought from your mind. You can hear a distant rumble of thunder from the backdoor. It's so quiet. You shut it soundly. The wind chimes are getting louder, the wind rising and howling against the house, the trees are thrashing and you can hear it. A shiver of anticipation goes down your spine and you exit the kitchen then. You know the best room in the house for storm watching. You pass through a hallway that is too wide to be called such and too short as well and stop in front of the double doors of your personal library. You open the doors, realizing that you hadn't shut the library windows. It's a good thing you came in after all. The room smells of books and the coming storm, it smells of cinnamon candles and the ash from the small fire place. It smells like home. One wall is nearly all windows and glass doors. The couch calls. If you can even call it that. It's less of a couch and more of a chaise lounge but ends have arm rests. It's in a beautiful gray tweed. It's wide though. Wide enough for you to lay on comfortably or curl up on like you're going to do now. Curl up with a cup of tea and watch the play of nature just outside your doors. The trees are bending from the wind and the house shakes and you consider lighting a candle or getting a torch or something. You don't though. Instead you sit on your couch, a yellow lamp lighting the dark corners of the room and you watch lightning flash from cloud to cloud and then arc downwards. Thunder booming delightfully along with the light show. It had been a while since you last had a storm. You soak it in. You love storms. Stormy nights or days, you love the sky when it is angry. You love the rain and with that thought, the first droplets arrive. Soon enough your world is full of water. The rain pouring from the heavens. You uncurl from your couch just long enough to shut a window that was too close to a shelf of books. You stretch, relaxing now with a little yawn and curl back up on the couch. You wish belatedly that you had chosen another tea that wouldn't keep you awake like you knew the green was going to. However, you mustn't waste honey. You liked it too much to waste it. You drink your tea.