The electricity of an impending storm raised the hair on Chelsea James’ arms.
She stood, barefoot, on her wide, front porch, watching the trees be blown almost in half.
And her dead sister’s voice played in her mind.
“It’s like nature has to violently clean up,” Morgan would say as they stood in this very spot.
They both loved storms.
The power of nature impressed Chelsea. Morgan concentrated on the aftermath. Odd that she never thought of the aftermath of her own actions.
“How so?” Chelsea would ask her older by a few minutes sister.
Morgan’s eyes would be wide. “Because a storm gives the trees a haircut, gets rid of the ones that are weak. And on top of that, the rain helps the ones that do survive.”
Chelsea would nod.
But this storm didn’t bring with it the same renewal. Somewhere deep in Chelsea, she knew this storm was different. This storm could bring destruction.
Or worse this storm might not bring the wanted rain for those trees that survived.
She sighed.
Right now she missed her sister more than anything.
Then Chelsea’s firehouse pager went off. “Unit 37 you have a fully-involved structure fire on Briar Lane.”
