Tag Archives: thunderstorm

You and I, we do not shrink.

humor, poetry, weather,

When I was in the Midwest recently I enjoyed watching through big windows the rainstorms with lightning and thunder. I don’t understand this poem’s title — can anyone explain it to me?  I did find the whole thing fun to read. But then, I’ve never experienced a hurricane.

A WATCHED EXAMPLE NEVER BOILS

The weather is so very mild
That some would call it warm.
Good gracious, aren’t we lucky, child?
Here comes a thunderstorm.

The sky is now indelible ink,
The branches reft asunder;
But you and I, we do not shrink;
We love the lovely thunder.

The garden is a raging sea,
The hurricane is snarling;
Oh happy you and happy me!
Isn’t the lightning darling?

Fear not the thunder, little one.
It’s weather, simply weather;
It’s friendly giants full of fun
Clapping their hands together.

I hope of lightning our supply
Will never be exhausted;
You know it’s lanterns in the sky
For angels who are losted.

We love the kindly wind and hail,
The jolly thunderbolt,
We watch in glee the fairy trail
Of ampere, watt, and volt.

Oh, than to enjoy a storm like this
There’s nothing I would rather.
Don’t dive beneath the blankets, Miss!
Or else leave room for Father.

-Ogden Nash

Fairytales and Fireflies

books, family, weather, , , , , , ,

Today the boys rode their coaster bikes in the alley behind the house. No cars came while they cruised up and down. Kate brought out a plate of apple slices, and I showed her the rhododendrons that are starting to bloom and peek through the thick jungle of other flowers. It was getting hot, and soon we were back indoors.

Raj and I got to the end of Stuart Little, and the same day both boys cozied up to me after their baths while I read the last of the seven stories in Fairy Tales for Brave Children. That book contains works from the Grimm Brothers, Hans Christian Andersen, and other folk tale collections. Tonight we read “Vasillisa,” from Russia, which is a Cinderella sort of story, but with a doll who helps the disdained sister to do mountains of work.

I like the illustrations by Scott Plumbe. The one below is of The Selfish Giant, after he repents of his unkindness to children, and is lying in the snow covered in honor with out of season flowers. That tale is by Oscar Wilde.

It’s time for me to leave my dear family and return to California. I was really happy that a thunderstorm descended  this evening about dinnertime. Within a few minutes of the loud thunder and lightning flashes, the street out front was a river. A few of us stood on the porch to take in the show; I was amazed at how warm the air was.

But then the rain starting blowing sideways at us, and we went in again. It wasn’t long before the clouds had cleared and the “river” ran into the drains, taking the heat of the earth with it. By 9:00 we were sitting on the porch in 20-degree cooler air, and watching fireflies. What a lovely ending to my East Coast sojourn.