By Laura Moore

Today, I joined the "Teachers Write" online community. Throughout the summer, authors Kate Messner, Jen Vincent and Gae Polisner facilitate a writing workshop for teachers and librarians to grow as thinkers, engagers and writers.  Today's post asked us to sit somewhere, observe and capture the moment. Then we had to go back and add sensory details to enliven our original piece. For a link to the full text of the assignment, click here. If you follow the link, you can also sign up to participate if you're interested. 

I added my response to the others posted beneath the assignment, but I also decided to add it to my blog. I'm glad I took the Teachers Write challenge, because instead of pouting about the rain, I got the chance to enjoy the show:


A breeze whistles through the porch corridor, and my legs crash against it as they set an old wooden rocking chair into rhythm. Deep rolls of thunder gurgle in the distance, while leaves stretch themselves in the breeze: flapping feverishly when the air moves, barely bouncing in the lull between gusts. A fire hydrant, four houses, a dozen trees, and two rows of cracked sidewalks hover in the backdrop, all still but for a swaying flag and a speeding car, slicing the scenery like cupped hands breaking water.

The air feels heavy and wet on my tongue, but before I can take note of the taste, soft, white slivers crease the sky, falling like iridescent streamers before morphing into to a million javelins, ramming against the leaves, the branches, the bushes, and the ground with such fury they shudder in the wake of each collision. As the greenery bends and arches--first slowly and then explosively--each piece looks like a ballet dancer performing on the stage of my street. The action rises vigorously, approaching a climax that falls only when the sun presses against the gray blanket above, burning up the water as it tumbles to its denouement and the music finally stops. 

The pounding taps slow to a rustling shiver. The leaves hang--exhausted--drops of sweat lingering on their tips. I sigh in the aftermath, and relish the breeze as it sails once more through the corridor. Mosquitoes appear as the curtain falls, and feeling left out, they demand attention by gnawing on my vulnerable ankles, still busy moving in rhythm: back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.