Threads

The afternoon dissolves to darkness, suddenly the downpour tumbles and the spouts regurgitate. Willows tilt and elm trees tremble, intertwine, then disassemble, all awash in green and gray, threads of nature cast asunder, unattached they dance and scatter at the dimming of the day. Hedges stripped, once meshed together, tree tops tussle in the fray, the kettle sings a screaming descant, shrieking o'er the storm's foray, and listen to the cabin creaking, squeaking loud as if to say, 'I'll bear this now, and so much more.' Windows gray with condensation, all are safe and warm before the fire. Comfort is for kids and grand folk, greatcoats hang from studded rafters, scarves and mufflers blend together, boots and slickers for the brave ones, regimented rows aligned. Now there's stew and home-made biscuits, mugs of cocoa laced with rum, a cure for nature's howl and hum.