Mayberry Tales

A storm rages in Mayberry tonight. Thunder rolls, and huge raindrops explode as they hit my roof. Gone are the angel kisses of this afternoon. Mother Nature seems angry tonight; She is vengeful and wild. Wind howls and my mind races with worry about tornadoes. Now and then, the wind kicks up, causing the big trees near my house to sway a little too much for my liking. Off and on, I peer through my window, trying to catch sight of the rainfall that I love so much, but the night is black as pitch, giving cover to all things as far as my eyes can see, save for the occasional flash of lightning.

As I lie here, amongst the pillows and comfort, I feel so grateful to be in this place. I close my eyes as the storm rages on, wholly distracted from the things that haunt me by way of dreams, yet I know they’ll arrive as soon as sleep comes to me. Alone, here in the country, means being truly alone. There is no one here to wake me from fitful sleep; no one to hold me when I wake up screaming in the night. No matter, I have taught myself to carry on, bravado at the fore, followed by all the strength I can muster. I expected to be frightened to live here like this. I am not. Because there is nothing that goes bump in the night that can rival the demons that dwell, quite comfortably, in the recesses of my mind. As I begin to drift off, I know that I will see them soon. Another battle to fight; one more to win. This is MY home. This is my place of solace. I’ll not have it any other way.

Despite the Sun’s best efforts, grey wins the day, as storms thunderously roll in. There is nothing more beautiful than a Mayberry storm. Grey skies calm the soul as rain weighs heavy on pine branches. Big drops splash against my window panes whenever the wind kicks up. And the sound…oh, my God, the sound; It is the most soothing sound I’ve ever heard. There are no cars, or sirens, or rumblings of refineries, to drown out the sound of angel kisses as they splash against the thirsty ground.

When it rains, I can’t help but wonder where the critters go. I stare out into the woods, as far into them as they’ll allow, but the world seems to disappear into the treeline, surrendering itself to the mysteries that lie in wait beyond it. I rarely venture into the woods. The life inside them overwhelms me, and I recall stories of magical things and dancing spirits, told to me by old women in my family. Beautiful, though they may be, the woods are no place for me. Not now. I have no business there. I’m no hunter, nor am I a sorceress; I am a woman, alone and vulnerable to things beyond my reasoning.

It’s a lovely morning here, in Mayberry. The sun is beginning to cast its offering in all of its spun gold glory. Critters scurry about, making ready for the day, as birds sing their song from the trees beyond my window. Further away, tree tops glow with morning light, the dew shimmering in the field that lies between.

I thank God for Mayberry. It is my saving grace…a blessed respite from a hard life, manifested in the lines on my face and the pain in my body. It took so long to get here; so long that I can’t remember. When you’re young, you imagine that your life will go a certain way, and you work so hard to make it so. But, storm clouds can gather before you even know they’re there. Suddenly, there’s a storm chasing you down, and you can’t run far enough, or fast enough, to escape it. Once it catches you, it’s for the storm to decide when it will take its leave. If you’re lucky, it finds a distraction and moves on. Sometimes, it decides to stay…