What a monumental storm we had last night. Fast and furious she was but the dog knew what we were in for. Five minutes before I heard the freight train of hail roaring over the hill she crept into our room, big brown eyes all worried, me cosied up reading Charlotte's Web enjoying the thunder & lightning, "what's up girly?" Then BOOM. Oh my stars. You've never seen me move so fast, gathering towels, blankets, bath mats, whatever I could grab to throw over the car from the deck. But it was flying in all directions & it hurt, so I kind of just flung them into the darkness below hoping they'd at least cover the skylight. With every flash of lightning I could see the whiteness of the roar. Then the roof started leaking, water pouring down the walls in the hall, through the smoke detector. I ran to find vessels, floundering around, a garbage bin and a bowl. I call Will at work, voice shaking, he keeps telling me to take a deep breath, then the lights die. Find a headtorch, check the girls. Check the roof. Big girl still sleeping, how? I don't know. Little girl wide awake & shaking. "It's OK Nevey, Mama's here. It's very loud isn't it chicken. The sky is making a lot of noise". I remember the chooks in the apple tree & the crested pigeon nesting in our front hedge. Surely they'll be.... Shining the headtorch through the kitchen window I can see their eyes gleaming....headcount. Matilda, one. Clothilde, two. Anouk, three. Four? Four? Where's Ananbelle? I call Will back, he walks me around the house & we check the circuits. There's not much I can do until it passes. He can hear it now, roaring towards him at work. "Col, col," Niamh keeps saying as she shivers. "Let's go get cosy my sweetpea chickadee". We tuck up in bed together then after what was probably only ten minutes, but the l.o.n.g.e.s.t, thick like cutting butter ten minutes ever, the roaring moves on & there's nothing but quiet thunder & lightning. "Back to bed my toasty little one", then it's out on the deck to survey the damage. Coming back through the door into the dark house I turn around and see the tall shape of a man standing in the hallway. The last time I remember being this hysterical was when I trod on a rat in our kitchen in Sydney over ten years ago, killing it because it's head literally popped under my foot. Ugh, I can still feel it & hear that POP! but it's William & I cried because my nerves were all jangled. Turns out old Annabelle couldn't make it into the tree that night & was safe & dry & warm in the chook house & Mama pigeon had chosen the spot to build her nest. The garden's all battered, tattered leaves, piles of petals, flowers doubled over. All around the neighbourhood today were the sounds of people restoring their own kinds of order. I salvaged what I could from the garden, our first cornflower, baby snowpeas, sprigs of thyme, then I did what I always do when my mind needs to settle & my nerves need de-jangling, I swept. How I love sweeping. The physical work of it, the rhythmical swish, swish of the broom, the path it carves. So lovely. It's a calming pause, particulary at the end of a long day when it's spring & the birds are singing to the twilight & my loves are inside cooking & reading & getting ready for a new night.
