I was reading Genesis today, about Noah and his ark, and the flood. Old stories that God is telling my to dig deeper into. As I read chapter 9, verse 16 -- "the rainbow shall be in the cloud, and I will look on it to remember the everlasting covenant between God and every living creature of all flesh that is on the earth" -- something hit me for the very first time. The rainbow, that little wonder of nature that has slipped into the commonplace and flits by, unnoticed, is God thinking of us. Not that God is ever not thinking of us, but isn't that a comforting think to know? At that very moment the rainbow appears, God is thinking of us. Just something to remember. :)Speaking of storms, I'm going to share something I wrote for Writer's Craft this year; a descriptive piece. I cut out the beginning and most of the middle; hope you enjoy.
At midday, the parched lips of the forest canopy part a little, inhaling the afternoon. The echo of a distant storm escapes from the sky and makes its way down to the roots of the cold earth; the trees shiver. Far away, thunder begins to roll towards the forest. Little rustlings from the ground show that animals have picked up the signal. A squeak here, a chirp there, and message of the brewing tempest has spread across the earth. Like a resurrected soul, the forest comes alive with movement. Tiny ears perk up and little eyes gleam as creatures rise from their stupor and begin to scurry. Filled with the rhythmic beat of their footsteps and the drum of the impending storm, the forest becomes a wild and pulsating entity beneath the sky.
Rapidly, and with great force, the storm approaches. Rain soon begins to fall upon the treetops; winds start to whistle through the branches and send them shuddering and waving against the sky. The sun falls, unheeded, into the horizon.
Suddenly, a crash of thunder tears through the forest, bending boughs with deafening force. Cold rain breaks from the sky in a violent torrent. The forest stumbles dazedly for a moment, then comes alive with electric energy. Glittering rain runs over the ground, filling every little footprint with water, until the earth is covered with tiny, quivering reflections of the moon overhead. Rain spills into the cupped birds’ nests, rain flows through the grooves of tree trunks, rain invades the narrow creek, rain trickles between pebbles and splashes onto the bitter ground.
Hours of thunder and lighting pass before the dark clouds gradually begin to draw apart. Slowly, slowly, the drops cease to fall; peace comes with the midnight, and every branch is silver-gilded beneath the stars. Somewhere, an owl calls, hoarse and hollow; the cricket with its rusty voice pours out a mournful serenade. Birds return to their nests and find themselves sitting in a pool of cold rainwater. They chatter angrily for a minute, then settle in with a resigned sigh. Hidden in the darkness, little mice scamper back into their holes, splashing through the puddles in the cold, wet earth. Then, the movement begins to slacken. The mist slowly rises back to its habitual position, the trees resume their silent storytelling. Flowers close drowsily, pressing their petals together for the night. As the sleep-holes of the forest creatures slowly fill, a dim and melancholy hum begins to emanate from the earth; the sound of their breathing rises up from under the frigid exterior of the soil. Other than this, all is silent once more.
Night steals down from the sky, silently coiling about the trees and gliding, snake-like, through the tall, wet grass. Deep within the whirling galaxies, stars dance in flickering constellations. Remote and distant on the eastern horizon, Mars begins to rise as a speck of smouldering crimson. And so the forest stands, beneath the hypnotic moonlight.
Love,
Oksy
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