The coming storm

I sat looking out over the emerald lawn looking up to a sky which had turned from azure blue to a blanket of grey. The air was electric, the pressure palpable and thunder played a consistent cacophony in the distance. The storm was coming, it was only a matter of time.

The first fat droplets of rain fell, staining the sandstone patio with dark spots of moisture. The stone, hot from an afternoon baking in the sun, fought valiantly against the falling wetness but as the skies darkened inexorably the flags gave themselves up to the developing storm.

I felt the rain’s cold caress prickle the skin on my arms and legs; refreshingly cool after the heat of the afternoon. I knew I would have to retreat from the rain but for that brief moment I relished the sensations of warmth and wet, the breeze, the electrical charge in the air, soundtracked by the sound of thunder rumbling in the distance. Like a perfect storm of sensation prologuing the impending summer tempest.



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