I was working at home the other day when in the early afternoon the power went out. Just like that, no lights, no internet, the home appliances I had started (dishwasher and clothes washer) all stopped working.
My first thought was “Oh no!”. I had some things planned. I was going to record a video lecture for my summer class, do some writing on my laptop, and work through a spreadsheet related to financial planning.
Then I thought, “Oh yes!”. This power outage just might be a gift. Duke Energy had already texted an official notice with projected restoration time – in about three hours. So, sure I could still write and plan on my laptop, it has a good battery function. But instead, I picked up a composition notebook and pen and headed for the screened porch and my favorite chair.
The gentle patter of the Spring rain was palpable as I sat down, notebook in hand. A cool breeze came through. Birds were singing, and the dogwood tree was nearly in full bloom, just in the middle of my line of sight. What a gift this interruption. Not so long as to be terribly inconvenient or troubling, but a break to be savored. To sit, listen, look, observe and reflect.
A squirrel scampers along the top of the neighbor’s fence, while his mate or rival, not sure which, chucks and chortles at him. He stops, as if to consider the message, then silently moves along. Finally, he sits on his back haunches and looks my way. What is he thinking?
A cardinal lands in the upper branches of another neighbor’s recently leafed out tree. She’s busy flitting from branch to branch. There’s some feather preening undertaken, making use of the light rain. It reminds me to put out the bird bath. But that’s a chore that will wait another day. For now, I sit amidst the suburban sounds of nature on a rainy Spring day.
Iris are budding. The miniature lilac bush is deepening in blossomed hues – looks like it did survive that recent freeze. Peonies are forming rounded buds, erect for now, though when in full bloom this rain would weigh them down. Tulips have mostly yielded, following the lead of their daffodil cousins. And the forsythia is now more green in foliage than yellow in blooms.
Just beyond, the garden lies quiet. Some seed planted late last week has yet to germinate and emerge, but with the rain’s call and blessing it will soon do so.
I like taking stock of these things that a power outage has brought to my attention. They are markings of life and change. None of them come with the hum or glow of electrical wattage, and somehow that makes them more wonderful.
A book sits by my chair, along with my trusty Kindle reader. It’s a great afternoon for some reading. But I think not with the backlit E-reader today. No, this window in time, this gift of a luddite afternoon, calls for a hardback with print on paper, read via natural light.
Who knows, a few pages read might induce a nap! That too would be fitting. Lights, the hum of appliances, and noise of electric powered living will resume soon enough. If they don’t, we will light a candle as dusk falls. Maybe we should do that anyway.
© Daniel M. Cash 2025
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