Wind chimes are meant to be joyful. They always come in bright colors, mimic leaves or butterflies, and tinkle lightly in the breeze. I love them for another reason. When I hear them I imagine that I can already smell the gathering storm on the horizon. I look for it. Yearn for it.
The chime is the signal. The calm before the storm. The storm can never get here quick enough. At the chime, I catch my breath.
I live for the gale and the rage of the storm signaled by two pieces of painted glass clacking against each other.
Author note: I wanted to start a new series because I figured the other posts might get boring after a while. These flash fiction pieces are going to be 100 words or less, and I plan to do one once a week.
I’m also thinking of expanding my posting to Monday, Wednesday, and Friday with each day being either a quote, writing piece, or helpful blurb.
Let me know what you think!