Bold In A Storm
After the rain, little fat birds sit on the fence and hunt in the mulch below for worms. They find seed, too, broadcast upon the earth when an anxious squirrel toppled the small table that serves as a bird feeder. This destruction of the tower transpired before the storm. The following morning, the lightning flashed. Thunder shook the house. Kittens took refuge under beds.
The cat did not hide during the thunderstorm. She has always been bold. That boldness has served her well for nine years, compounding with every event survived. She remained alert, eyes wide, ears attuned, body seated, composed like a perfect statue of a cat. Not unaware, no, but not about to flinch over a little weather. After the exciting bit passed, it rained hard all day. In the morning, there was snow on the mountain.
Today, little fat birds climb on the limbs of the rose bush, flit excitedly from branch to soil, fence to limb. Kittens watch from the desk at the second-story window. Sunlight peeps brightly over the rims of some particularly voluminous clouds migrating eastward. We hear the geese, but they pass unseen over the roof. The cat sleeps peacefully, unfazed by shocking patches of blue sky and rowdy birds.
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