weathered

It was one of those moments where I couldn’t be sure if this was a June storm or the coming apocalypse as I hung up the phone.  My eyes trained on the edges of the window where the blinds block out the least light as I watched the sky fall dark.  Night dark.  Sun gone for the day.  Had the sky filled with ashes?  Had Earth fallen from orbit?  Was there an eclipse?

And then the boom of thunder and the bright white light as lightning arched across the sky above.

And then the rain fell.  No.  It didn’t fall.  It plummeted.  Hurtling itself towards everything in it’s path with alarming force.  With an elegant violence as it battered houses, trees, the cracked sidewalk, delicate grass, birds and bees and anything else that didn’t find cover.

The storm has calmed now, but not passed.  The drops still lap at my windows and ripple the puddle from the flooded storm drain in the street.

This isn’t always what it’s like in June.

5 thoughts on “weathered

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