I was on my bike the moment I smelled the rain.
White cumulus, stained red and orange by the light of the setting sun towered above me. Powerful, passive.
Far off in the distance, a dark devouring grey began to spread.
I raced through silent, still streets, anticipation filling me with a wonderful, anxious energy.
The grey rolled and slunk quietly above the sun dyed cotton balls in the sky, as if stalking prey.
Static filled the air as the white, grey, red, blue collided and a sulky purple seemed to drip down the horizon.
I watched, a cry of pure thrill rising in my throat, as it became alive with flashes and jolts.
Oh, had it accepted my challenge.
The miserable purple had melted away into a deep, dangerous, dirty ashen color, and the hunt was on.
My muscles burned, my body shifting left and right as the winds threatened to tip me over.
The slivers of sunlight, patches of blue were consumed. The world seemed to end at every turn. The night noises were silenced by something much more terrible.
As a magnificent cry echoed from somewhere not to far away, hidden in the restless sky, and the wind picked up, heeding it’s call to carry, the rain began.
It was just me and the storm.
