After the storm

One o'clock in the morning, and I'm sitting here yawning. While usually uncomfortable, tonight, this just feels right. I'm in that lovely in-between phase, gently tired enough to welcome sleep when it comes but mentally mobile. My mind feels limber and supple in contrast to the stiffness in my feet and knees. It's a pleasure to feel free of the late night worries that too often accompany this hour.

Part of this is relief that the latest storm seems to have passed, and my home and I are still intact. I fret more about tornadoes than in the past. When the winds are up, I can't release a tension that's a mixture of attentiveness and helplessness. With a funnel cloud on the horizon, I become grumpily fatalistic. If it's going to get me, there's nothing I can do, but I don't have to accept it cheerfully. That agitation settles under my skin as I debate between hallway and bath as my best refuge and look ruefully at the old pin oaks lashing about in my front yard.

The winds did settle though, and despite the occasional thunder rumble, the general quiet of the night is a balm. I feel peaceful and hopeful. Tonight, a future different from this dreary and rather grim existence of mine feels like a reality that's just a few steps away.