The setting sun streams light the color of cinders and smoke, bursting through dark clouds. On the screened porch in the wooden rocker of my grandparents’ era, I stare at cattails across the Chechessee River. They sway rhythmically with the wind like a metronome: Tick-tick-tick-tick . . . tick-tick-tick-tick

The wind becomes so turbulent that it could toss the palm trees across the lawn in front of the porch. The boats that line the river bob. Clashing waves do not retreat. They catch glints of the moonlight as they tango across the docks. I will not go in. The suspense of the storm thrills me.

A raspy male voice crackles from the weather box on the kitchen counter. The same familiar speech from the voice emanates from the box: "This is an announcement from the National Weather Service. A severe thunderstorm and hurricane warning is issued for the following counties: Chechessee. It will remain in effect until 3:36 A.M."

A siren’s screech follows the broadcast. In the background the cadence of intense rain drums on the roof. The nearly perfect tune sends the leaves outside into a hasty cha-cha. Rat-ta-tat-ta-tat-ta-dink.. Rat-ta-tat-ta-tat-ta-dink

I still hear the beat despite the choppy waves and loud wind. My mother calls for me to help in the house, but I want to understand the storm.

The final glimmer of hurricane season ambles into the pitch black of midnight. The waves are now calm. The boats are settled. The cattails have stopped their imaginary music. The leaves are exhausted from their boogie. The South Carolina riverside is once again serene. I finally go in when salt water stings my nose. It’s time to curl up in bed with my sister.