Scary Storm—Part 1

I have a deep psychic need to partake of my long, hot, outdoor soakings in the tub. I can go for as many as five days between bathings, before the craving becomes overpowering, but every three days is definitely preferable. This contemplative need often has me consulting the weather forecast the immediate day after a bath, to determine whether the coming third or fourth night will offer the more clement weather. If neither one promises to be pleasant, I'll bite the bullet and face nature's worse: and bathe on a rainy or a cold night. My impulsive need to soak can find me hunkered down in the hot water during some pretty harsh weather: a frigid 15^o, a heavy rain, during intimidating wind gusts, or with uncomfortably close thunderstorms passing by.

The forecast one recent evening was for sustained winds of over 30 mph, with gusts up to 55. It would have been prudent of me to remain in the protective confines of our underground home, but it'd been five whole days since my last soak and my desire for a bath trumped my better judgment. I fired up the tub's wood stove and danced naked into the storm. I followed on the heels of my wife—who, against her better judgment, had preceded me. She quickly returned to the relative safety of the house. She was sensibly scared off by branches being dislodged from their attachments to overhead trees. Teeth clenched, I headed out.

Once submerged in the hot water—as my body began to feel soothed—my mind began to be submerged in apprehension. Overhead are three huge sycamore trees and one towering white pine. The strong gusts of wind were tossing them around as if they were spring daffodils. They bent menacingly one way and then equally menacingly leaned in the opposite direction, as the powerful gusts whirled around. Branches bashed together, raining pieces of them down, and an occasional loud CRACK off in the woods startled me, destroying any chance of my slipping into my usual mental reverie. I felt very small and defenseless against the elements. I hoped they weren't planning to harm me.

Looking up, I watched a buzzard fly overhead, well above the treetops. I like to watch these large, graceful birds, as they glide effortlessly on wind currents—usually facing into the breeze. With these fierce winds, however, this buzzard had turned tail to the wind and was being pushed along at a high velocity. He appeared more like a black meteor, streaking across the darkening sky.

More stormy weather next time...