The Storm Before the Calm
The words may get turned around, but our Creator never does
I sit, listening to the quiet of the morning. The morning after, perhaps I should say.
Last night a cold front moved through our region, the lower temperatures of the northern air pushing under the stubborn heat of our southern summer. As usually happens with this situation, the leading edge of that troublesome, change-seeking cold front roiled up a thunderstorm, blowing through with noise and light, keeping normal folks awake and on edge for hours.
This morning brought temps in the sixties, instead of the eighties, and a quiet that seems almost eerie after the high energy of the night we experienced. A few limbs had to be moved out of streets and the yards are covered with leaves and slender branches that gave up their fight during the storm, but over it all, a hush and calm has descended. Even the songbirds seem a little muted as they wing from tree to bush today.
The calm after the storm.
Wait. That’s not right.
The red-headed lady who raised me said it enough times the words are embedded in my brain.
The calm before the storm.
We would comment about how things seemed to be going smoothly, and she would say the words…
