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Storm By Janet Granger The lights wave good-bye as they flicker out, the final darkness. The house becomes an eerie quiet, finally peaceful, soft thunder rumbles, muttering in the distance. Green leaves toss and turn in the wind, raindrops bouncing them in one direction then another. I am the outsider looking in, the insider looking out. Day falls darker into night and candles illuminate small spaces of control. “When will the lights come back on?” my little ones ask, trembling. “I do not know,” “Why can’t you fix them now?” “Because I can’t. I’m sorry.” I hold them close, one on either side, kissing their brows. “But do not be afraid. Mommy is here. Mommy is always here.” Shh. Go to sleep. The sun will shine its brightest in the morning. |
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Document last modified on: 07/25/1997