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Thunder Lies

Allen Butler

photo

The light of day is all but gone. Wisps of blue sky are visible just barely through dim grey clouds on a silent march across the sky. The air is heavy with moisture, ready to burst. But there is no release, not yet. Not here, anyway. The storm is coming, flashes of light streak from the south, accompanied by gently rolling thunder. Somewhere out there the storm has come, but not here.

Its signs are everywhere apparent. A welcome breeze blowing in, providing sweet relief from the overwhelming heat and humidity. Whence comes the rain? We await its arrival, yet it does not come. We wait in anticipation, eschewing the streets, huddling in our homes, sitting on our covered balconies safe from the torrents. But there are no torrents, not yet. Will they come? Or will they pass us by, unworthy of its cleansing waters?

I came outside to watch the rain. From the window I could see the lightning flashing, hear the thunder rolling. There must, I felt, be rain, but I was wrong. The rain is not here, no pit pats as it falls upon the roof, streaks upon the window.

I came to see the rain but have found nothing. Cursed lightning! Cursed thunder! Cursed wind! Harbingers of a storm not arrived, untruthful fortune tellers!

October 8, 2014 7:24 pm

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