Vahu, the wind, blew fiercely last night—setting the trees to dancing in a gusto of whirling and roar. Just breathe, I tell myself, and let go. Still, I put a golden dome around the house, so vulnerable in the midst of it all. Snowfire lets me know he thinks he will sleep in the stairwell, instead of by the door. Dreya, who thinks she is invulnerable stretches out on the floor. Then it pours, turning driveway to creek and gutters to waterfall.  Remember there are places where they pray for rain, I remind myself.  I try to sleep in spite of the clamor, tensed to hear a boom and a crash.  Sometime before dawn, I awake to the silence. The forest is calm.  We walk in the early morning light. The forest is not flattened, but stands regal and proud.  I am surprised to see the driveway still there. The fallen trees I had been dreaming about all night are nowhere in sight.  Except for the creek’s roar, it is hard to tell that a tempest passed through.

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