what the thunder does
it’s nothing romantic. i don’t feel all caught up by feelings that stream from my heart for you and i and the days gone by when the summer thunder claps.
my mind races back to the days of riding horses through the pasture to check on the cows. i was a kid then. probably about 11 or 12 years old.
when you’re 3 miles away from the house and you hear that rumble come from the trees then see the dark clouds begin to roll over the grass, you get nervous in a few ways:
how will the horse react?
Rooster was a good horse in that he was way too cocky for his own good. fast to break and quick to cut, he was perfect for rounding up cattle. thunder and guns did not bother him. he knew that he was in control.
am i going to get wet?
you want to spur and ride towards the barn, trying to beat the downpour. but then you think, i’ll never make it. i’ll just be soaked and out of breath. relax, no one ever died from a wet saddle. plus, the drops will beat you to death if you ride too hard.
we can cut through the slough, now, huh?
we usually avoided it because the turtles had taken it over. snapping turtles. but they posed little threat on those afternoons because everyone knows that they let go when it thunders. problem solved.
these aren’t, of course, the only things that reel through my mind on a late, hot summer afternoon that’s gathered the clouds for applause but they’ll do. because i don’t wish to think about you anymore.
and we never rode horses together.
so i’ll worry about getting wet in memories instead.
