The Lightening Rod

I'm standing on the weathered, splinter-filled dock. Listening to the sounds of hurried motors traveling across the unsettled water. Thunder in the distance. A warning to all. Get off the lake. The waves, rolling into shore, cleansing the tawny, sandy beach. They have frothy, bubbling tips, sliding in like a surfer catching the big wave. The metallic smell of ozone fills the air as the loons cry for their mates across the lake. Taking flight from a pine tree hanging low over the water, the Great Blue Heron. Long legs trailing behind, making sounds like an old saw cutting through thick wood. His displeasure obvious to all around him. Another roll of deep, undulating thunder. Closer this time. A fishing boat rocks up to the dock, fighting against the steel blue waves. The sky churning up dark gray clouds, filled with anticipation.

The first soft raindrops fall, giving the lake a much needed sip of fresh water. Like teardrops from an angry sky. The lake reacts by forming small circles, opening it's mouth for a refreshing drink.

Fishing poles, tackle box, depth finder and trolling motor. Out of the boat, avoiding the left over remains of a duck's last dinner. The fisherman, still in his boat. Talking of the approaching storm. More boats racing by to get to the safety of shore. Everyone knows that in a storm, a boat in the water is like a potato in a deep fryer. Thunder means lightening.

The look of fear crosses the fisherman's face. "Run!" he says. I look confused, but at the same instant feel a tingling sensation. "Your hair is standing on end!" he cries. He is out of the boat and running with me through the wet grass to the cabin in the woods up the hill. Fishing equipment forgotten as the adrenaline rush of fear moves our bodies, while the crashes of thunder vibrate our eardrums.

In the cabin, safely looking out the window towards the lake. Sheets of rain moving across the lake. Lightening striking the forest beyond.

The storm moves on quickly. Fresh dirt, grass smell, birds beginning to chirp.

I'm standing on the weathered, splinter-filled dock.