Stormy, Stormy Days
But oh, it was the kind of morning where you woke up and had to squint your eyes real tight just to see straight out the window. The kind of morning where you woke up hungover from the wind and the way it had blown all night, like the Armageddon come down off the mountains rollin’ and tumblin’ ’till all that remained was you in your bed, lost in a windfall of dreams. The kind of morning where the trees leaned so hard against the ground, stretching their bark bodies in the wind so steep that you had to look down at your own two feet to make sure you were standing up straight and lookin’ out at the world dead-on. The kind of morning where, even walkin’ around in broad daylight, the weatherman having assured you the worst was over, you flinched with each gust, dodging its imaginary tendrils like bullets, afraid now from what you couldn’t see comin’ at you but felt surely in your heart was bound to crash down and hammer you into the ground like a fence post just about any second now.
The radio said from Virginia on up north into Maine, wind and rain come crashing down and snow in the interior but, you could stand with your flat feet in Carolina soil and prove it wrong, your toes stubbing against stray sticks, big branches dangling like loose teeth from their mother trees, meaty white scars where they’d ripped free now shining in the patchy sunlight and you thought good Lord, this storm almost just about bit down into the heartwood of us all.
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