We Had A Storm This Morning

     It came through this morning  a couple of hours before sunrise: a late-summer morning storm.

     First thunder like distant kettledrums, booming, looming, a far-off sizzle of lighting; then closer, elephants on the march, thumping, pounding, broken by zaps as the bolts found targets.  Rain next, a few drops hurled against the window like sand, the screen rattling, more rain rushing like surf and spraying the window, hissing like eager cobras hunting a way in, and behind it the thunder and searchlight-blinks of lightning.  Wave after wave of rain, walls of pure noise above the thunder's hammered anvil, finally fading.  The storm went stalking away, thunder muted, the rain less and less and then near silence; just the downspouts, ringing faintly with the last drops of water seeking the earth, and an occasional distant by-the-way thud of thunder from the backside of the front.

     It was worth losing an hour of sleep.  I had time for a quick nap before the sun started hauling itself over the far edge of the planet and the cats demanded breakfast.

     The early light was an electric silver-blue, barely enough to pick out water beaded on every twig, tree limb and wire, along all the gutters and fences.