Summer Storm (by Visage)

Synopsis:  Brothers encounter a summer storm.

Category:  Bonanza
Genre:  Western
Rating:  G
Word Count:  460


 

A boom of thunder shook the house and a streak of lightning brightened the surrounding yard.  The boy huddled against his older brother trying hard to hide his fright.  He gulped loudly burying his head deeper into the crook of his brother’s elbow.  The older sibling tightened his hold on the boy, smoothing the dark hair off his forehead.  He murmured something soft to the boy, still stroking his hair gently.

The rain drummed on the roof, highlighted by the random crash of the thunder.  The heat thickly surrounded the brothers, causing beads of perspiration to drip heavily from their brows and soak their thin shirts.  Still, neither wished to let go of the other.

Another thunderous bang sounded from overhead.  A yelp escaped the boy’s mouth.  He glanced up at his older brother from under his eyebrows with a sheepish look.  His protector just smiled.

“Do you hear that?”  The oldest asked quietly.  “The rain is playing a symphony, just for us.”  His younger brother looked up, a quizzical look etched into his face.

“A symphony?”  He asked.  He cocked his head slightly to the side, straining his ears.  “I don’t hear no music.”

“Don’t hear *any* music.”  The older brother corrected.  “Listen harder.  Here, imagine the wind is like the woodwind section.  Hear it blow through the tree leaves?  It’s like a flute trill.”

The boy closed his eyes.  A smile moved across his face.  “I hear it.”

“Then the rain falling on the porch, that’s like the brass.  You can almost hear a fanfare from the trumpets.”

The boy shifted closer to his brother, listening hard for the sounds of the storm.  The thunder began to rumble softer, holding the note for a few moments.  He looked up, thinking quietly. “That’s the tubas and trombones, right?”

 

“That’s right, brother.  The lower brass they’re called.  They’re the deep undertones of the orchestra.”  He paused for a moment to identify another sound.  “Do you hear that faint ping?  The raindrops on the roof falling off onto the tin?”

The younger brother nodded eagerly.

“That’s the lonely triangle playing his solo.”

The younger of the two giggled at the imagined sight of a triangle player crying because he was lonely, yet still playing on.  He gave a satisfied sigh, drinking in the music of the storm.  After a few moments, he pulled away slightly from his older brother and looked into his eyes.

“Thank you, brother.”

The older looked down at his young charge, enjoying the delight the boy was experiencing.  Both settled back comfortably to where they had been before. Older Brother sighed contently, tightening his hold again on Younger Brother.

“Anytime, Benjamin.  Anytime.”

 

*****End*****

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