Another Wonderful Story -- A Little Siesta An Artist.

A Little Siesta for for an Artist

By Brian Tones

It was early spring,
there had been rainfall over the
last few nights, so the air was
fresh and full on fragrance from
the wild herbs as they got
crushed under foot. I had taken a
walk deep inland following a
river bed, climbing a small rise, a
large semi ruined house came
into view. Closer inspection
reveled it was an old wheat mill
left to stand its fate that time
would bestow on it. Cracks in the
walls, now large enough to pass
through gave access to the
interior revealing the wonders of
times passed. It was all there, the
large millstones, the heavy
ironwork keeping it all together,
it was a museum to the craft of
milling. Returning outside the
early afternoon sun now hot,
prompted me to take shade
under a convenient olive tree, set
up my easel and ponder a while
over the hive of activity this
would have been some years
back. In the heat of the
afternoon, I could hear doves
making play for partners in the
rafters, then the laughter of
children as they played and
splashed in the river. There was a
rattling of chain, stern
commands, as the mules were
harnessed, then the heavy
constant grinding sound of
stone on stone as the mill
worked its wonders. I opened
my eyes, the shadows now long,
it was time to make for home.
Thunder God. It was late
summer, just on the turn of the
season, for a few days now the
air had been heavy and muggy, a
storm was brewing somewhere
over the mountains. Due to the
heat, we had gone to bed later
than usual that night and
dropped off into a fitful sleep. It
must have been around one in
the morning when the storm
arrived, hitting the weather side
of the house like a large sledge
hammer, the old house seemed
to shudder and tremble right
down to its foundations. It raged
on with the wind hitting the
house from all directions, the
noise was deafening, the lighting
so bright that it made the
wooden window shutters look
transparent, the dogs fled and
took refuge under the bed. The
storm seemed hell bent on
destroying the old house as it
weighed all its might against it,
then with one horrendous
thunderclap, simultaneous
lighting and wind of hurricane
force hit the front of the house
bursting open the bedroom
windows. I leaped from bed in
an attempt to close the window,
as I did so, another flash of
lighting lit up the garden as if
daylight, there before me was a
sight that I cannot tell, for you
would not believe.