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Lightning Glass

Published Sep 23, 2024, 4:00 AM

Our story tonight is called Lightning Glass, and it’s a story about a long beach walk spent looking for something magical after a storm has passed. It’s also about geese flying south for the winter, driftwood, and sandbars, bracing cold water lapping at the shore, and excitement of discovery.

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Welcome to bedtime Stories for everyone, in which nothing much happens, you feel good, and then you fall asleep. I'm Catherine Nikolay. I read and write all the stories you'll hear on Nothing Much Happens. Audio Engineering is by Bob Witttersheim. We give to a different charity each week, and this week we are giving to Hope in a Suitcase. Their mission is to provide children and teens in foster care with a suitcase or devil back, along with basic essentials and comfort items to make their transition and circumstances just a little easier. Learn more about them in our show notes. If you need a little more nothing much in your life, there are over forty bonus stories waiting for you on our premium feed. There are shops in downtown Nothing Much that have only ever appeared in our bonuses, more marmalade and crumb, more innkeeper stories, more cool ant, all of it for a dime a day and completely add free. And when you subscribe, you can know that you are helping to keep nothing much happening. See what I did there. Subscribe at Nothing Much Happens dot com or through the link in our show notes. Now a gentle reminder that this is a form of brain training and that the effects will improve with time. All you need to do is listen. By occupying your attention for even a few minutes, you'll open the door to sleep, and sooner or later you will fall right through it. I'll tell the story twice, and I'll go a little slower second time through. If you wake later in the night, don't hesitate to turn a story right back on. Our story tonight is called Lightning Glass, and it's a story about a long beach walk spent looking for something magical after a storm has passed. It's also about geese flying south for the winter, drift wood and sandbars bracing cold water lapping at the shore, and the excitement of discovery. Now it's time make yourself as comfortable as you can and let your whole body relax and melt into the bed. I'll be here keeping watch a guardian in the darkness, even after you've fallen asleep. Take a slow, deep breath in through your nose and sigh from your mouth. Nice. Do it again inhale and sigh it out. Good Lightning Glass. It was my first thought when the thunder rang out, when lightning flashed through the afternoon sky and rain pelted the garden. I wondered if any of that lightning had possibly touched down at the beach. After a year of combing the sand for pretty rocks and sea glass and mudlarking on the river banks for artifacts, I'd become an out an out rock hunter. I discovered a passion for finding. I loved the suspense of it. It was like a good detective story. Would I put the pieces together? Would I find a piece of Leland blue, a pudding stone, a hallisite, the beautiful quilted reef fossil known as a Patasky stone. One by one I had, but the specimen I'd yet to encounter, the one I was so eager to find on a rock hunt. And the reason I thought of the beach when the lightning had flashed was something magical seeming called lightning glass. Made in the instant that lightning struck sand. The result was a fragile, often hollow piece of formed silica. I'd seen them in pictures, though not yet in person, and they reminded me of pieces of coral or even frozen bits of lightning itself branhed like the veins in a leaf. So today, as I opened my windows and let the fresh autumn air in, I was excited to see that the clouds had been blown away. The sky was a calm, blue sea, and I was ready to step onto the sand and hunt for lightning glass. I dressed with a bit of care. The day was sunny, but not overly warm, and even though the storm had passed, it could be blustery at the shore still. If I knew one thing about myself, it was that if I got close enough to the lake, I would have to put my feet in it. I would want to feel the cold water on my ankles and the damp sand under my souls. So I donned pants that rolled up easily to my knees and stepped into my trustee walking sandals. When I parked at the beach, I wasn't surprised to see a few other rock hunters already there, undoubtedly on the same mission, and we waved at each other. As I stepped onto the sand, I kicked off my sandals and carried them by their straps in one hand. The sand was still damp from the rain, and it felt wonderfully cool. As I walked. I loved the beach in the summer, the kids making sand castles and people stretched out under umbrellas. I loved a beach walk when the sun beat down and a sudden diversion into the waves felt so refreshing. All of it filled my cup. But I also loved to be here when the crowds were gone, when there was a nip in the air, and even when ice formed and frozen waves against the shore. Today, certainly it wasn't cold enough for ice, but I did stop to zip my hoodie as I got closer to the water. I was scanning the ground, looking for any signs that it had been struck by lightning. From the photos I'd seen, it wasn't likely that there would be any burn marks. It wouldn't be like a tree that was struck, or even the ground that might show cracking a scar. Instead, there would just be the glass, the vulgarite, as it was properly called, and that folgarite would probably be under the sand, not sitting helpfully on top of it. So what I needed to look for was a small hole in the sand, the entry point where electricity had connected with the silica and the quartz. I took my time, remembering to enjoy the walk, the fresh smell of the water, and the cool air. I'd brought my handy garden trowel when occasionally I'd stop to dig if I spotted something that looked promising, but so far had only unearthed a few pieces of basalt diorite of Arrian. There was a long piece of driftwood, nearly a whole tree really, that had washed up and found a new home on the beach. It made for a useful bench when I stopped for a while and sat and looked out at the water. There was a sand bar about fifty yards out where the lake bottom suddenly rose up to just three or four feet below the surface, and whenever I swam here in the summers, I would make my way out to it and spend some time walking across it in the slow motion, low gravity way of an astronaut. On the Moon, the water was lighter, there a strip of turquoise amid the navy, and warmer from its shallowness. And on this cool day, as nearly every tree in the park behind me was at least part of the way into its color change, I wondered what it would be like to be out there. I stood up, leaving my trowel and sandals on the sand, and walked closer to the water. I'd resisted stepping into it so far, my attention having been fixed on fulgierites. But now I wanted to feel how cold it was. I stopped at the edge and rolled my pant legs up a bit higher than eased a few toes in. We sometimes say that something took our breath away, when it actually made us breathe deeper. And that was the effect the water had on me. Now the cold was bracing in the best possible way, and my breath went deep into my my lungs studying me as my awareness rushed into the places touched by the lake. I went just a little farther in till the water was at my calves, kept taking long inhales and exhils. I felt so wonderfully present in my body. Cold water, the wind, the open sky. They were simplifying things for me, like a camera lens that zoomed out, then in again, till things came into focus. Slowly, I eased back onto the sand, which in comparison felt warm and inviting. I picked up my sandals and trowel, and began heading back toward where I'd parked. I was a little disappointed that I hadn't found any lightning glass, but the trip had certainly been worth it all the same. My fellow rock hunters seemed to have similarly given up, and as my car came into sight, I noticed I had the beach to myself. I heard geese honking in the distance and stopped to watch their v The cold weather was signaling them to begin their flight south for the winter, and I loved watching them soar together. That cold air must be as bracing as the lake had been for me. As I gaped up at them, one of my sandals slipped from my finger landed on the sand beside me. When I stooped to pick it up, I saw a hole in the sand. It was larger than the pin prick holes you sometimes see small air vents made as waves pass over the surface. It was the size of a quarter or a little bigger. And aware of how fragile lightning glass could be, I just gently brushed sand away from it instead of digging, till to my delight, a hollow structure emerged. It was sandy and rough on the outside, and those branches. They were stunning. I felt like I was holding a piece of coral. The poked surface and thin tubes that made the structure a mermaid's pipe. I marveled at the harmony of it, A thing that looked like it had come from the sea, but was born in the sand and made not from water but fire. It made me think of nature's repeating motifs, the schemas that were shared by vastly different life forms. I carried the bit of petrified energy in my hand, ready to head home, thinking how grateful I was to be part of such a world. Lightning glass. It was my first spot when the thunder rang out, When lightning flashed through the afternoon sky and rain pelted the garden, I wondered if any of that lightning had possibly touched down at the beach. After a year of combing the sand for pretty rocks and sea glass and mud larking on the river banks for artifacts, I'd become an out an out rock hunter. I discovered a passion for finding. I loved the suspense of it. It was like a good detective story. Would I put the pieces together? Would I find a piece of Leland blue, a pudding stone? A halisite, the beautiful quilted reef fossil known as a Patasky stone. One by one I had, but the specimen I'd yet to encounter, the one I was so eager to find on a rock hunt. And the reason I'd thought of the beach when the lightning had flashed was something magical seeming called lightning glass, made in the instant that lightning struck sand. The result was a fragile, often hollow piece of formed silica. I had seen them in pictures, though not yet in person. They reminded me of pieces of coral, or even frozen bits of Lightning itself branched like the veins in a leaf. So to day, as I opened my windows and let the fresh autumn air in, I was excited to see that the clouds had been blown away. The sky was a calm sea blue, and I was ready to step on to the sand and hunt for lightning glass. My dressed with a bit of care. The day was sunny but not over warm, and even though the storm was over, could be blustery at the shore. Still. If I knew one thing about myself, it was that if I got close enough to the lake, I would have to put my feet in. I would want to feel the cold water on my ankles and the damp sand under my souls. So I donned pants that rolled up easily to my knees and stepped in to my trustee walking sandals. When I parked at the beach, I wasn't surprised to see a few other rock hunters already there, undoubtedly on the same mission, and we waved at each other. As I stepped onto the sand, I kicked off my sandals and carried them by their straps in one hand. The sand was still damp from the rain, and it felt wonderfully cool as I walked. I loved the beach in the summer, the kids making sand castles and the people stretched out under umbrellas. I loved a beach walk when the sun beat down on a sudden diversion into the waves felt so refreshing. All of it filled my cup. But I also loved to be here when the crowds were gone, when there was a nip in the air, and even when ice formed and frozen waves against the shore. To day certainly wasn't cold enough for ice, but I did stop to zip my hoodie as I got closer to the water, I was scanning the ground, looking for any signs that it had been struck by lightning. From the photos I'd seen, wasn't likely that there would be any burn marks. It wouldn't be like a tree that was struck, or even the ground that might show cracking a scar. Instead, there would just be the glass, the folgarite, as it was properly called, and that folgarite would probably be under the sand, not sitting helpfully on top of it. So what I needed to look for was a small hole in the sand, the entry point where electricity had connected with the silica and quartz. I took my time, remembering to enjoy the walk, the fresh smell of the water and the cool air. I'd brought my handy garden trowel, and occasionally I'd stop to dig if I spotted something that looked promising, but so far had only unearthed a few pieces of basalt, diorite and septarian. There was a long piece of driftwood, nearly a whole tree that had washed up and found a new home on the beach. It made for a useful bench, and I stopped for a while and sat and looked out at the water. There was a sand bar about fifty yards out where the lake bottom suddenly rose up to just three or four feet below the surface, and whenever I swam here in the summers, I would make my way out to it and spend some time walking across it in the slow motion, low gravity way of an astronaut on the moon. The water was lighter, there a strip of turquoise amid the navy, and warmer from its shallowness. And on this cool day, as nearly every tree in the park behind me, was at least part of the way into its color change, I wondered what it would be like out there. We stood up, leaving my trowel and sandals on the sand, and walked closer to the water. I'd resisted stepping into it so far, my attention having been fixed on vulgarites, but now I wanted to feel how cold it was. I stopped at the edge and rolled my pant legs up a bit higher than eased a few toes in. We sometimes say that something took our breath away, when it actually made us breathe deeper, and that was the effect the water had on me. Now the cold was bracing in the best possible way, and my breath went deep into my lungs, steadying me as my awareness rushed into the places touched by the lake. I went just a little further in till the water was at my calves, and kept taking long inhales and exhale. I felt so wonderfully present in my body. The cold water, the wind, the open sky. They were simplifying things for me, like a camera lens that soomed out, then in again, till things came into focus. Slowly, I eased back onto the sand, which in comparison felt warm and inviting. I picked up my sand and trowel and began heading back where I'd parked. I was a little disappointed that I hadn't found any lightning glass, but the trip had certainly been worth it. My fellow rock hunters seemed to have similarly given up, and as my car came into sight, I noticed I had the beach to myself. I heard geese honking in the distance and stopped to watch their v approaching. The cold weather was signaling them to begin their flight south for the winter, and I loved watching them soar together. What cold air must be as bracing as the lake had been for me. As I gaped up at them, one of my sandals slipped from my finger and landed on the sand beside me. When I stooped to pick it up, I saw a hole in the sand. It was larger than the pin prick holes you sometimes see small air vents made as waves pass over the surface. There was the size of a quarter or a little bigger. And aware of how fragile lightning glass could be, I just gently brushed sand away from it instead of digging till to my delight, a hollow structure emerged. It was sandy and rough on the outside, and those branches, they were stunning, felt like I was holding a piece of coral. The poked surface and the thin tubes that made the structure a mermaid's pipe. I reveled at the harmony of it, a thing that looked like it had come from the sea, but was borne in the sand and made not from water but fire. It made me think of nature's repeating motifs, the schemas that were shared by vastly different life forms. I carried the bit of petrified energy in my hand, ready to head home, thinking how grateful I was to be part of such a world. Sweet dreams,

Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep

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