Corinthian Bells

Corinthian Wind Chime bells were toning away in the sudden afternoon breeze. Clouds hovered over the mountains, dark, low and cumulus.  Intellicast radar revealed the storm was east of here in the Pisgah Mountains.  Yet the howling hounds below knew something was up.

Crows scurried as squirrels and rabbits ran erratically across the small and steep road to Janel's house.   The entire ride home from the Farmer's Market unnerved her.  There was something about that woman in the gray and red striped polo.  She was not one of us.

There is an alien group, Nordic in appearance, very tall that seemingly fit into Caucasian groups on planet earth.  Some are hybrids.  All have piercing blue eyes. Her bangs, straggly like the rest of her aging blond hair were more than long, falling into her eyes.  Her level of awareness about these matters drew my attention. She appeared to have no basis for her appearance.  Princess Diana would have been embarassed.

The Nordic woman's British accent didn't fit anything about her persona.  After all, Brits are exceptionally proper, at least the ones in my family, the ones I have met.  Except for Maggie Smith whose humor continually cracks me up.  There is purpose in her humor.  Not the Nordic woman's. I remembered that she didn't want anyone asking about her ancestry.  My hair stood on ends.

It was continual need to talk about UFOs also caught my attention. I suspect I will see her again and again.  I saw her on Main Street as I went to a fundraiser yesterday later in the day, a few hours after the market closed.  She tried to talk with me again but I found myself suddenly engaged by other patrons.

There was something in the air alright.  Of course, we wouldn't want to jump to conclusions but when I get my intuition alerts, I have learned to listen.

The August wind moved in like a pentameter.  An abundance of raspberry crepe myrtle flowers brought even more Ruby-throated hummingbirds sipping the fresh sugar water at the porch feeder.  I was more than glad to see them in early April after a winter too long for the southern Appalachians.  Climate change we are told.  Lots of cycles throughout history along with human destruction for the past hundred years or so. More in the recent years.  I hoped the raspberry crepe myrtles would continue in their abundance for years to come. I wasn't so sure.

Today, the mountain was inordinately quiet.  It was not easy to fall asleep that night.  Visions of the Nordic woman made me thankful to be attending an Experiencers conference soon.  An opportunity for more knowledge, to understand the changes.  To set history straight.

The Corinthian bells continued their pendulum run, back and forth. Louder than before. Like the Nordic woman.