stormy weather
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stormy weather
Rain pelted the panes.
Angels bowled above.
Brief flashes of light illuminated the dark.
“Where’s Henny?” Cal asked.
“Basement.” Nią put her muscle into erasing errant wolf lines.
“Hennnnnn-reeeee-etta!” Thalia howled. “You descended from wolves — Get up here!”
As an emboldening incentive, Cal wielded a butter knife, pushing peanut butter into puppy Hen’s pink pacifier.
I’ll tell you what freedom is to me — no fear.
~ Nina Simone
Awww, poor Henny!
We dog-sat a big, brave vanilla Lab — who, at night during a thunderstorm, came to our bedroom with a beseeching look that said, "I am brave, I am very brave, I really am brave really, but right now just right now please just right now can I come up in bed with you?" We let her up, of course.
If you just described early morning conditions, I’d still be under my covers. If not in the basement! Suddenly the words from “You’ll Never Walk Alone” popped into my noggin: “At the end of the storm, is a golden sun, and the sweet silver song of the lark.” There, that ought to do it. Henny!? Henny?? No larks...
Golden sun or no, your upbeat offering certainly sets a tone for the day! The setting you’ve described brings to mind rainy walks with my Fido. “At the end of the walk is a soft bath towel, and sweet dog’s wet brown nose pressed to my chest.”
You’ll never walk alone. 😁