Another storm is powering its way across the panhandle tonight, Monday. I can hear the rain driving into the pavement, hail clinking off of windows, and thunder rolling outside. Lightning is dancing across the sky, making porchlights useless. So far no sirens have sounded. So far.
This current bombardment of storms is making me think of my youth. Why, I am not sure. But for some reason it is taking me on a mental journey.
My brother, Benjamin, and I were outside walking with a friend. We had come across a dirt road that had fallen into disuse and we decided to walk down it. The trees had grown over the abandoned road, creating a ceiling of leaves, protecting us from anything that might be beyond. In this case, our imagination.
All of us were fans of a series of fantasy novels written by Terry Brooks. So with our longswords at our sides, and the threat of dragons or other mythical creatures looming, we made our way down the path.
We band of heroes moved with what we thought was grace and style. Searching the woods for whatever might be lurking in the shadows, watching the sky, keeping each other safe. Our swords were extended, ready to strike down whatever evil might attack.
The further we journeyed, the longer the shadows grew, and our imaginations did the same.
Our adventure came to a sudden end when a very loud clap of thunder echoed above us. We dropped our sticks and ran for home, narrowly beating the rain that followed. It rained for days.
Now, thunderstorms in Alaska are not too uncommon. Granted it isn't the same caliber storm as what is coming down now, but they tended to be long and drawn out.
When Mother Nature would embark on a marathon of rain, my brothers, all three of them, myself, and my sister, the youngest of the five of us, would be locked in our home. Trapped. Stuck, to deal with one another in a two-story, four-bedroom log home that was to our prison for a few days.