After the Storm. Norton. A Trip to Town.

           "Jeee-pers,"Billysaid.

           HewasstandingbythefencethatseparatesourpropertyfromNorton’sandlookingdownourdriveway.Thedrivewayrunsaquarterofamiletoacamproadwhich,initsturn,runsaboutthree-quartersofmiletoastretchoftwo-laneblacktop,calledKansasRoad.FromKansasRoadyoucangoanywhereyouwant,aslongasit’sBridgton.

           IsawwhatBillywaslookingatandmyheartwentcold.

           "Don’tgoanycloser,champ.Rightthereiscloseenough."

           Billydidn’targue.

           Themorningwasbrightandasclearasabell.Thesky,whichhadbeenamushy,hazycolorduringtheheatwave,hadregainedadeep,crispbluethatwasnearlyautumnal.Therewasalightbreeze,makingcheerfulsun-dapplesmovebackandforthinthedriveway.NotfarfromwhereBillywasstandingtherewasasteadyhissingnoise,andinthegrasstherewaswhatyoumightatfirsthavetakenforawrithingbundleofsnakes.Thepowerlinesleadingtoourhousehadfalleninanuntidytangleabouttwentyfeetawayandlayinaburnedpatchofgrass.Theyweretwistinglazilyandspitting.Ifthetreesandgrasshadn’tbeensocompletelydampeddownbythetorrentialrains,thehousemighthavegoneup.Asitwas,therewasonlythatblackpatchwherethewireshadtoucheddirectly.

           "Couldthatlectercuteaperson,Daddy?"

           "Yeah.Itcould."

           "Whatarewegoingtodoaboutit?"

           "Nothing.WaitfortheCMP."

           "Whenwilltheycome?"

           "Idon’tknow."Five-year-oldshaveasmanyquestionsasHallmarkhascards."Iimaginethey’reprettybusythismorning.