Wildflower Writes

Photo by  Michael Henry  on  Unsplash The microwave beeped. The lights went out. All was silent. Another power outage. I resigned myself to getting ready for work in the dark. A single flashlight provided just enough light to make sure my clothes matched and my hair was tamed. At some point I wandered to the window in another room to observe the darkened neighborhood, eerie in the predawn gloom. I realized I could see the furniture in the room, which should have been impossible with no electricity and no lights. The tiny flashlight from two rooms away was emitting enough light for me to see where I was going. Sometimes we think our light isn’t very bright, that the good we do is unnoticed or inconsequential. In a dark world, every light is important; every light is seen. Keep shining.

Rain. It’s still raining. It’s been raining almost nonstop for the last 16 hours. It’s funny how rain is a good thing when it’s been dry, or if it takes the place of snow. However, when it’s summer time, and there are ballgames to be played and swings to be swung and parks to visit and beaches to play and outside parties to plan… rain becomes the enemy. If I could stay home all day in front of the fireplace with a good mystery novel, listening to the rain drum on the roof or the window pane, I would be perfectly content with an all day rain. In fact, a colorful thunderstorm would be even better, with all the drama of booming crashes and blinding flashes of light. As it is, I got wet walking my daughter to the school so she can catch the bus to her summer art class. Although my giant umbrella was perfect for that walk, it was a little hard to maneuver in and out of the minivan when going to and from work and lunch. On the way home from child care, my daughter removed her shoes and ran t...

I made sure the ladies from corporate had their reports for their noon conference call. I left the two of them and my administrator in her office. I clocked out, informed the receptionist, and headed to the car. The clouds were dark and ominous, and a wild wind whipped my hair into my face. It felt like a storm was brewing, and I felt a breath of anticipation in the air. I drove to my husband’s workplace where we shared reheated salsa chicken and veggie quesadillas. I was proud of him for fixing a healthy lunch. We chatted and before long, it was time to head back. As I walked into the nursing home, small groups of people were milling about, talking in hushed, excited voices. I slowly walked to the time clock, trying to make sense of what was being said. “Is he still in there? Don’t open the door! I hope it’s okay. How did that happen? Where’s [the administrator]?” “What’s going on?” I finally asked the receptionist. Her eyes were wide. “A deer went through her window.” I followed a sm...