At the exact moment I touched the door knob a large crack split the air and my stomach dropped to the patio. I'd taken the dog out for a before-bed ball throwing until it'd gotten too dark for either of us to find the ball. Just as I was wondering if the kids had, indeed, brushed their teeth, the loud bang stopped me cold. The dog jumped and I bolted into the door, where no one stood. Austin ran into the room, and asked "What's wrong?" "Did you hear that?" "What?" "Nothing." "Whaaat?" "Nothing." He eyed me suspiciously. We'd been reading books every night before bed, and it left us all a little jittery. Is that really a bird, or part of the raven king's army trying to take over the neighborhood? Does that loud bang have an explanation, or do I need to look for our ammunition? Of course, late June and early July in Tennessee is a wondrous place, especially on a cool summer night like this one. Large, striped firework tents pop up on every street corner, advertising things like "red neck rockets" and "screaming eagles." You can't drive down the road at night without the night sky being lit up on both sides of the street, so perhaps I shouldn't have been shocked at tonight's blast for two houses down. Maybe three. The yards are so big that when the kids heard the successive loud noises they ran out of their bedrooms and out the door. Austin forgot his pants. Yet another good thing about rural Tennessee -- no street lights. The kids laid on ...
Anytime
