Unable to sleep, she slipped outside, catching the wooden screen door before it slapped against the frame. The night air teased her hair and tugged at her nightgown. She settled into the porch swing, leaned her head back on the cushions and peered into the dark night. The rhythmic squeak of the chain soothed her, blending in with the sound of the windmill drawing cold water from deep in the ground to continuously fill the stock tank. In the distance she could hear a truck on the highway gear down as it approached a hill. It was amazing how far sounds could travel in the night.
Millions of stars lent their light to the moon and turned the countryside almost as bright as day. Wispy clouds flirted with the moon, now obscuring its face, now revealing it in its full golden glory.
The dog left its bed under the honeysuckle bush to see who was up. After nosing around at her hand to check for treats, he settled down under the swing with a soft thump and a sigh. One of the barn cats meandered across the porch, twining itself between her legs before timing a jump to land in her lap. The cat butted its head against her hand, begging to be petted. She scratched the itchy places along it's jaw and soon, contented purring filled the air, competing with the songs of the crickets and cicadas and the occasional night calling bird.
The night wind turned cooler and began to pick up, lifting her nightdress around her legs, blowing her hair across her face. The wispy clouds began to gather together and soon obliterated the moon and the stars. A low rumble could be heard in the distance. She could hear the windmill head turning back and forth as the wind shifted and soon the scent of rain overpowered the smell of the honeysuckle. The cat abandoned her lap and took off after the dog for the barn.
As lightning played across the horizon and the thunder drew closer, she decided she was tired enough to sleep now. It had been a good day and the promise of a thunderstorm foretold a restful night. But first she must shut the windows down partway, leaving a good opening for the cool night air to blow through, but keeping out the worst of the rain. Then she could climb between cool white sheets and pull a quilt up, reveling in the breeze and the sound of pouring rain.
Many stories herein are subject to the faulty, and sometimes creative, memory of the blog owner and should not be taken as factual, although the names and events are real! Kind of.