Tropical Tempests

As I sit here on our top-floor front deck, overlooking our moon-drenched expanse of lawn in the company of a palm-sized, spotted frog who frequents these nights with me and that I’ve fondly come to call Juanita, I listen to the strong westerly winds that charge our house and crash across our metal roof in strong, sweeping gusts. When the winds come this determinedly, as they do suddenly and often, especially at night, it is as if we live at the bottom of a deep and raging ocean, surrounded by the pounding force of waves. The ferocity of the wind lends its strength to the rains, whose intentions, however small or grand, are amplified to great heights as the wind blows them across our house until they fall on us in wide sheets and sound like a powerful and drenching waterfall. Here now comes the thunder, rolling over the hills and across the lake, lending its song to the symphony. The sound is all encompassing, and though once intimidating, now lulls us to sleep and permeates our dreams.