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"The Storm"

By Thomas Blaine

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Every fall, fierce storms always swept down from the northeast, especially in our little town up in the mountains. We could count on it like a universal truth, an axiom. Every year when the leaves changed colors and the children went back to school, we knew we would be subjected to several storms.

That Thursday in late October was no different. It started raining just before noon and, by three in the afternoon, tree branches were sliding down Main Street. It wasn't long until the power started to flicker.

"We're in for a storm Mr. Walker," said one of the elderly ladies who came into my bookstore every few days to look for childhood memories among my used books. The time was just after one.

"The weather service says it should be a strong one, ma'am," I answered half attentively as I hurriedly finished and saved my work on the computer before the power went out all the way. "You'd better get home before things get really bad, you don't know how long you'll be here."

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