Last night, during dinner, I went down to the chapel to set up and prepare myself for the Wednesday evening service. So I got to watch the thunderstorm roll in. All these big clouds massed, creating a series of bands or bonds upon the sky, that merged into a gray wall.
Great blue cracks broke through the wall as the storm passed to the north of us. Then I finished setting up, and the whole great wall of storm began moving south. It was like we moved into the path of the storm, rather than the storm moving into us. A candlestand fell over in the wind; fortunately it wasn’t lit. The white staff in the east fell down, and then the disk in the north. The storm kept rolling in.
The camp Weather Emergency alert signal began sounding. I stood my ground another ten minutes, then sought shelter. Six campers and some staff in one building together, watching and listening to the storm roll through.
Eventually the All-Clear signal sounded, and we were free to go about our business, which was chapel followed by time at the various program areas around camp. Except that the scout troops had to go back to their campsites and check for damage and knocked-down tents, and the camp staff had to check each program area to make sure there wasn’t any damage and that they could open at 7:30p, and… and…
So, we didn’t have chapel last night. We’re going to have a make-up session today at 1:00p.
Except this morning, when I wanted to write a poem, I realized — half the readings for my service plan make specific mention of evening. So I spent the day looking for religious-themed poems with mid-day themes.
Do you know how few such poems there are? I am already dreading the day.