Sunday, July 6, 2014

Day 11 - Grounded by the storm and the heavy rain: the storm was spectacular

Wednesday November 30, 2011

The storm last night was relentless. Not the city slicker kind of storm that can be intense, and loud, but generally comes as a spell, exercising its right to be a storm but with time constraints.
 
The storm last bight was a force unleashed, without a care in the world. The sky was being lit up every seconds, and she wore her orange gown, her turquoise dress, her lapis lazuli frock, and pin striped suit which was followed by blasts and explosions that shook the earth, shaking my tent and clearing my sinuses.
 
It was a night of micro sleeps, little time to allow a dream to burgeon. Being amid the storm was the dream. I tried to meditate to no avail.
 
The storm last night was a marvellous spectacle, and the rain, as it fell, heavily at times and lighter at others, sounded like thousands of heavy boots, or flip flop sandals walking upon the dome of my tent.
For a brief moment there would no rain, thunder, or breeze. It was an eerie hush. No birds called out to each other. Occasionally a few drops would cut through the silence and echo sonorously. Then the darkness would give way to a vivid flash, a deep rumble emanate, a strong gust of wind come through, and it would all start again, louder and more furious.
 
It was like this all night. By morning it continued until 9 amish. The rain did not stop until 5 pm. Nowhere to go. Alas! Just sit and ponder. This is what the man pushing the shopping trolley might do.
 
One of the rangers came over to check the grounds. She said that the storm had also hit Canberra quite hard, and that she felt sorry and a little envious to have missed out on being in the middle of the storm, right here in Honeysuckle, to be a part of the celestial display.
 
She is closing access to the other campgrounds and walking trails. To dangerous. Honeysuckle remains open and I its solitary occupant.
 
Last night, at around 9 pm, a car drove into the campground, passing by my tent, and then turning away. I snuck out of my tent to have a look around. Thoughts came to me.
 
As I ambled about the grounds this morning I recognised the car, and a tent was pitched alongside.
"Why on earth would someone come at that hour to pitch a tent in the pouring rain!"
Later in the morning, gone. I realised that there could be only one plausible reason. Who ever it was that came, came to be overwhelmed and recharged by the storm. Just as the ranger wished she had been a part of the storm, then so had this person, solely for that purpose.
 
By 3pm the rain had only increased in its intensity. Not only had I been grounded by the storm, I had to stay for the most part in my tent. Strong winds followed and by 5pm the skies were beginning to clear. By dusk, the few clods had pink, reddish bellies. Day 12 would be a fine day.
 







 

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