The Storm

A pony-drawn hearse rolled up for my father. He was still alive but very sick and surely would not survive the storm. There were murmurs of a great storm roaring our way over the hills and gaining power. The murmurs grew and spilled out into great worries and the worries turned to terror. We didn’t even board up the windows of our house because it was futile: this was the storm that would end my life and the lives of my parents. At first there was a small rain shower and it blew over. But we could see clouds jelling up,  inky … Continue reading The Storm