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The Storm
Apple Bloom watched the storm from her front porch.
It was miles away, still, more felt than seen. A line of clouds rose over the west horizon, spilling toward her like water overflowing from a cup. The sunset filled the late summer world with golden light, and it painted the tops of the dark clouds orange and red. Distant flitting specks -- birds returning to their evening roosts -- fled from the faint thunder.
She sat on her haunches. The movement set the dry boards beneath her creaking, and a praying mantis perched on the railing twisted its head in her direction. She spent a moment staring the bug down, and then snorted and turned back to the coming storm.
The patio door screeched behind her. There was a short pause, and she heard Applejack’s hoofsteps approach.
“Thought you’d be busy packing,” her sister said, settling down by her side. They were nearly the same height, now.
“Finished already.”
Applejack grunted, and out of the corner of her eye Apple Bloom saw her sister face the clouds. Except for her breath and the hum of insects in the leaves, silence returned to the farm.
A flash lit the storm, casting the clouds’ roiling edges in sharp relief. Apple Bloom began counting in her head: one-one-thousand, two-one-thousand, three-one-thousand…
She reached twenty-five and was about to give up when the thunder arrived. It began slowly, a deep rumble stretched out by distance and echoes, and rolled on and on, crashing against the farmhouse like an ocean’s waves. It faded, and when it was gone a true silence reigned, and even the buzzing cicadas were stunned into stillness.
“Gonna be a big one,” Applejack said. “Biggest one of the year, the pegasi say.”
“You’d think they’d stop it.”
“Hm?” Applejack turned her head a fraction of an inch.
“The pegasi. You’d think they’d stop a storm that big.” Apple Bloom waved her hoof at the clouds. They devoured half the sky, now, and above them the twilight had faded to a rich purple.
“Ah, I reckon they could. But they always let one big storm through every year.”
“That’s stupid.” Apple Bloom spoke softly, without heat. Applejack was not a pegasus, after all. “Look at that thing. It’ll flood the streams, break trees, tear off roofs. We don’t need that mess.”
“Yup. All true.”
“So why let it happen?”
“Good question.” Applejack turned back to the storm. Her mane, down and untied for the night, fell in curtains over her shoulders. “I asked Rainbow Dash, once. She said the pegasi used to stop all the bad weather. Tornadoes, blizzards, everything but light rains, back when ponies lived in Dream Valley.”
“Yeah?” Apple Bloom waited for her sister to continue. “Sounds nice. What happened?”
“Nothing. Ponies loved it,” Applejack said. “They loved it so much they asked the pegasi to stop thunderstorms and overcast skies. They asked the pegasi to burn away the frost and the snow, to end the fog and the morning mists.
“Finally, they even asked the pegasi to stop the seasons and hold the world in summer. Have nothing but warm blue skies and gentle evening rains, forever.”
“Oh.” Apple Bloom looked out at the coming storm. “Sounds… nice, I guess.”
“I’m sure it was. But time passed, and ponies forgot the snow, and the winter, and the thunder. Everything but the sun. Their world never changed, and neither did they. They never grew, and when they died they were still young as foals.”
Silence again. In the distance, veils of rain hid Ponyville’s rooftops.
“If you never experience something, you’ll start to forget it,” Applejack said. “That’s why we get one big storm every year.”
“That’s just a story, though,” Apple Bloom mumbled.
“Yeah, it probably is.” Applejack stood and stretched. “But ponies do forget. Pegasi are right about that.”
Apple Bloom swallowed soundlessly. The world flashed, and a heartbeat later the sharp crack of thunder split the dawning night.
“Anyway, let’s get inside,” Applejack said. “Storm’s about to hit.”
Yeah. Apple Bloom looked up. “Hey, sis?”
“Hm?”
“I won’t forget you.” A pause. “Any of you.”
Applejack smiled. She leaned forward and pressed her lips against Apple Bloom’s forehead. “I know,” she whispered. “Now, come on. You’ve got an early train tomorrow.”
“Right.” Apple Bloom gave the storm a final look. It was about to break on the farm. Already, stray drops painted dark spots on the wood.
Maybe once a year wasn’t so bad.
It was miles away, still, more felt than seen. A line of clouds rose over the west horizon, spilling toward her like water overflowing from a cup. The sunset filled the late summer world with golden light, and it painted the tops of the dark clouds orange and red. Distant flitting specks -- birds returning to their evening roosts -- fled from the faint thunder.
She sat on her haunches. The movement set the dry boards beneath her creaking, and a praying mantis perched on the railing twisted its head in her direction. She spent a moment staring the bug down, and then snorted and turned back to the coming storm.
The patio door screeched behind her. There was a short pause, and she heard Applejack’s hoofsteps approach.
“Thought you’d be busy packing,” her sister said, settling down by her side. They were nearly the same height, now.
“Finished already.”
Applejack grunted, and out of the corner of her eye Apple Bloom saw her sister face the clouds. Except for her breath and the hum of insects in the leaves, silence returned to the farm.
A flash lit the storm, casting the clouds’ roiling edges in sharp relief. Apple Bloom began counting in her head: one-one-thousand, two-one-thousand, three-one-thousand…
She reached twenty-five and was about to give up when the thunder arrived. It began slowly, a deep rumble stretched out by distance and echoes, and rolled on and on, crashing against the farmhouse like an ocean’s waves. It faded, and when it was gone a true silence reigned, and even the buzzing cicadas were stunned into stillness.
“Gonna be a big one,” Applejack said. “Biggest one of the year, the pegasi say.”
“You’d think they’d stop it.”
“Hm?” Applejack turned her head a fraction of an inch.
“The pegasi. You’d think they’d stop a storm that big.” Apple Bloom waved her hoof at the clouds. They devoured half the sky, now, and above them the twilight had faded to a rich purple.
“Ah, I reckon they could. But they always let one big storm through every year.”
“That’s stupid.” Apple Bloom spoke softly, without heat. Applejack was not a pegasus, after all. “Look at that thing. It’ll flood the streams, break trees, tear off roofs. We don’t need that mess.”
“Yup. All true.”
“So why let it happen?”
“Good question.” Applejack turned back to the storm. Her mane, down and untied for the night, fell in curtains over her shoulders. “I asked Rainbow Dash, once. She said the pegasi used to stop all the bad weather. Tornadoes, blizzards, everything but light rains, back when ponies lived in Dream Valley.”
“Yeah?” Apple Bloom waited for her sister to continue. “Sounds nice. What happened?”
“Nothing. Ponies loved it,” Applejack said. “They loved it so much they asked the pegasi to stop thunderstorms and overcast skies. They asked the pegasi to burn away the frost and the snow, to end the fog and the morning mists.
“Finally, they even asked the pegasi to stop the seasons and hold the world in summer. Have nothing but warm blue skies and gentle evening rains, forever.”
“Oh.” Apple Bloom looked out at the coming storm. “Sounds… nice, I guess.”
“I’m sure it was. But time passed, and ponies forgot the snow, and the winter, and the thunder. Everything but the sun. Their world never changed, and neither did they. They never grew, and when they died they were still young as foals.”
Silence again. In the distance, veils of rain hid Ponyville’s rooftops.
“If you never experience something, you’ll start to forget it,” Applejack said. “That’s why we get one big storm every year.”
“That’s just a story, though,” Apple Bloom mumbled.
“Yeah, it probably is.” Applejack stood and stretched. “But ponies do forget. Pegasi are right about that.”
Apple Bloom swallowed soundlessly. The world flashed, and a heartbeat later the sharp crack of thunder split the dawning night.
“Anyway, let’s get inside,” Applejack said. “Storm’s about to hit.”
Yeah. Apple Bloom looked up. “Hey, sis?”
“Hm?”
“I won’t forget you.” A pause. “Any of you.”
Applejack smiled. She leaned forward and pressed her lips against Apple Bloom’s forehead. “I know,” she whispered. “Now, come on. You’ve got an early train tomorrow.”
“Right.” Apple Bloom gave the storm a final look. It was about to break on the farm. Already, stray drops painted dark spots on the wood.
Maybe once a year wasn’t so bad.