Resting from the storm
Clouds bloomed above the housetops. The mountains on the horizon sparkled. The rain had washed everything clean and bright. The air was silent except for the chirping of birds and the occasional sound of chainsaws against a blue sky. The world was once more at peace with nature. The storm had subsided, leaving the day to begin its fresh new steps into tomorrow.
As he sat on the front porch, Johnson had a different feeling about it. To him, the dawn brought a distinct sense of the hours ahead. There was a gnawing in his stomach, a constant thrumming in his ears, like the sound of his heart beating in anticipation. An event, though still imperceptible, loomed in the air as sure as the storm that thrashed against the windows the night before.
Johnson reached into his pocket and grabbed a pack of gum. He thumbed a stick out from his pants and carefully unwrapped it. Placing it between his teeth he chewed slowly, deliberately, scratching his head as he gazed at the clouds.
I wonder, he thought, as he walked back into the house and closed the door behind him. The quiet chatter of the radio became louder as he entered the room. He had been listening to the news all morning. The newscasters had said nothing. There was the usual back and forth banter, the joking and small talk one hears every morning on the syndicated stations. Reports were made about the damage to buildings in the area, branches blocking roads and even the big tree in the Village Square that had been toppled by the winds, but nothing else.
Still, Johnson could feel it lingering. He’d had a premonition. And in his life, he had never before this day, had a premonition.