Severe rainstorms promised yesterday are apparently arriving today.
There's a watercolor sky above me colored dozens of shades of gray and smeared by playful winds. Thunder peals in wide circles around, sometimes sounding like fighter jets soaring; other times, like heavy machinery in a busy shipyard heaving weight and steel. Small dust devils scatter over pavement like spilt marbles. Cement clad ground grows a pox of rain drop stains. The air is fragrant with a smell that is vaguely youthful.
Having always enjoyed dramatic weather, I sit in a rocking chair on a porch, watching it all, not knowing how many more rainstorms I'll witness before I die. (Who does?)
Think I'll watch this one a while longer and remember the lovers I've known.