Happiness

The storm was headed in our direction— big loom of gray like the absolute West leaned over us. Reports of damage in the neighboring counties—a silo unfurled and took wing, a house trailer twisted loose. On the Doppler screen the storm looked alive, yellow and green at the fringes, with a fierce red heart trending to violet. Sirens swept over to scare it away, like songbirds grow strident, circle and bluff at the sight of an owl. When the rain came in sheets, I regretted my sins. When lightning cracked the red pine's half-rotted heart, I wished the world more joy in general. When the worst was over and the grass lay flat, but alive, and the sky was a waning bruise, I thought of that silo, how it wasn't mine, and all that grain cast back into the world's wind, maybe some of it still flying.