A thunderstorm roiled
through here about four a.m., loud and bright and rambunctious. Power flickered three times. In forty-five minutes it was here and gone; it moved that fast, and left a steady rain that has pretty much ceased now. The storm woke me minutes before the alarm, and before the alarm could go off I had to re-set the clock twice because of the power flickering. I had to re-start my computer once after a flicker too, before the lightning was done. There is only the faint, far quiet rumble of storm, not as loud as coffee perking three rooms away.
Yeah, sure, that's what you say, Tom, then there is another roll of thunder, immediate.
A slow spatter of rain. The sky and earth in polite conversation. I always feel left out. I'll keep eavesdropping nonetheless.
Along Washington Street, school kids in rain suits, standing in the rain, waiting for the bus, the first day of school. The arctic white flash of the strobe light on top of the school bus.
Heading north, I see that it looks like trouble ahead. Heavy clouds, heavy rain.
About two thirds of the field of alfalfa has been baled, the rest is in windrows, getting wet.
The darkness ahead, I find out, is not so much heavy rain as the fog still hanging in the air.
To the northwest, a small patch of blue sky, the clouds around it lighted.
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