I don’t know about you but I love rain. Seattle would pose no problem to my psyche. I don’t just like rain though. I like storms. I mean big gale type blow you over storms. To me, there’s nothing quite like sitting on a big, midtown style porch with a mug of steaming tea in your hands while a blustery storm tears the town the shreds. Big huge rain drops that fall so hard the leaves on every tree in sight dance with the weight of a water blob smashing into. Then as you watch, the bright flashes of lightning momentarily illuminate the world in front of you in such sharpness it’s burned, for a brief moment, into your retina in such detail that you never knew existed. Just when you think that’s the best it can get, an explosive shock wave of thunder washes over you, frightening you in a base, primal, survival sort of way. Your muscles jerking and clenching your fist to the mug of tea, you can’t help but let loose a smile that slowly smears it’s way across your face; the final recognition that storms are really a good thing. They clear away the dirt, the dead, the bad and leave a freshness, ready to be spoiled again so the cycle can repeat itself.
Fuck, I want a rain storm already. Although I need a new porch.
Stormy Weather
I don’t know about you but I love rain. Seattle would pose no problem to my psyche. I don’t just like rain though. I like storms. I mean big gale type blow you over storms. To me, there’s nothing quite like sitting on a big, midtown style porch with a mug of steaming tea in your hands while a blustery storm tears the town the shreds. Big huge rain drops that fall so hard the leaves on every tree in sight dance with the weight of a water blob smashing into. Then as you watch, the bright flashes of lightning momentarily illuminate the world in front of you in such sharpness it’s burned, for a brief moment, into your retina in such detail that you never knew existed. Just when you think that’s the best it can get, an explosive shock wave of thunder washes over you, frightening you in a base, primal, survival sort of way. Your muscles jerking and clenching your fist to the mug of tea, you can’t help but let loose a smile that slowly smears it’s way across your face; the final recognition that storms are really a good thing. They clear away the dirt, the dead, the bad and leave a freshness, ready to be spoiled again so the cycle can repeat itself.
Fuck, I want a rain storm already. Although I need a new porch.