Search This Blog

Total Pageviews

Wednesday, August 9, 2017




Wednesday, 7:30 AM.  63 degrees F at the ferry dock, 60 on the back porch.  Wind variable and calm.  The sky is partly cloudy, the humidity 87%, after a thunderstorm last night.  The falling barometer is still at 30.08".  Highs will be in the high 60's to low 70's, the skies mixed, with chances of rain and thunderstorms tomorrow and continuing later into the week.
   We had a brief storm last night, with one loud clap of thunder about 9:30, just as it was getting dark.  Lights, TV, internet and phone all went unceremoniously dead, and we had to scuttle around looking for candles and flashlights.  It was evidently an area outage, and the lights on Madeline Island were out as well.
   As the darkness increased and the coyotes began to howl, the candle on the dinning room table flickered and guttered, casting a kaleidoscope of shadows on the walls.  No Brewers ballgame.  No dire news of North Korean nukes.  A little conversation, feed the dogs, and to bed early.  Not a bad evening, all things considered.  Then waking up at 12:30 AM when everything came on again and wishing it had all stayed off the rest of the night.

It took a power outage for me to see the light
Of what it is I am really like
To hear the words that you said without the noise
I could listen close, without distraction of toys
I saw the darkness of how I felt surround me
The candle that you lit, so profound within me
Safety, security, as well as desire
Lit so lovingly by that fire

It took a power outage for me to release pent up fear
To see that you are so very near
Never so far away as I sometimes believe
You are here, here with me
You hold my darkness, always at bay
To keep me happy, chase the blues away
I never saw this until the lights went out
When I made the darkness become my doubt

That same darkness that you made light

Deana Repose Oaks

1 comment:

  1. Art, is it possible that your ode to the summer moon on August 8th resulted in Nature's assistance? Last evening's lightning strike meant there was no need to search out a quiet country road.