I walk outside and
breathe in the heavy tropical air. The foggy coolness of the morning has given
way to the hot, humid mass of a Floridian summer day. The intense daily sauna
has not built up today, but the touch of crispness we delighted in this morning
has passed. There is a stillness in the air, its moist touch envelopes me with
a quality almost palpable.
To my right there is a storm rapidly approaching. Not the gray thunderclouds typical of a September afternoon, but rather an enormous purple mass, a true storm building over the Gulf. Sky, cloud and rain all merge together, the components indistinguishable. An occasional lighter cloud is outlined, but in general all you see is an arrayed whirl of purple shades.
Although my skirt and hair are perfectly still, a tree 10 feet away demonstrates the swiftness of the looking storm. Every leaf twinkles in the stirring breeze, evidence of the wind I have yet to feel.
By stark contrast the sky to my right is a bright azure vision. Fluffy dots of white clouds are scattered across its breadth. They are not the towering pillars of thunderclouds although the closest of them show some of the telltale thunderstorm grayness. However, these little tufts are too small and powerless to make good on their threat of rain. Instead, if a cloud can evince an emotion, these clouds are joyful and free much like a child at play. The midday sun is still streaming down from directly overhead.
The transition between the two skies is breath-taking; a pure white blanket of cotton. It is apparent these clouds are the shape of the purple ones yet to come, but the storm is not in them. I am standing on the very cusp of the storm itself. Nature is curiously quiet around me. The leaves on the tree dance in silence and there is no birdsong. The crickets are still. My surroundings are even devoid of human interlopers for the moment.
Even as I write the sky is darkening. The quality of the light changes and fades. Lacking a camera, I struggle to entrench this magnificent image into my memory. I am once again reminded of why I loved the rain so very much. I eagerly wait with anticipation the sound of the rain spattering on my window and striking the roof. The smell of the damp earth and the even heavier air that remains after the storm passes are some of my favorite sensations. Perhaps today, for the first of the new season, it will be cooler when the rain passes. The event on the horizon might just be the leading edge of Fall.
To my right there is a storm rapidly approaching. Not the gray thunderclouds typical of a September afternoon, but rather an enormous purple mass, a true storm building over the Gulf. Sky, cloud and rain all merge together, the components indistinguishable. An occasional lighter cloud is outlined, but in general all you see is an arrayed whirl of purple shades.
Although my skirt and hair are perfectly still, a tree 10 feet away demonstrates the swiftness of the looking storm. Every leaf twinkles in the stirring breeze, evidence of the wind I have yet to feel.
By stark contrast the sky to my right is a bright azure vision. Fluffy dots of white clouds are scattered across its breadth. They are not the towering pillars of thunderclouds although the closest of them show some of the telltale thunderstorm grayness. However, these little tufts are too small and powerless to make good on their threat of rain. Instead, if a cloud can evince an emotion, these clouds are joyful and free much like a child at play. The midday sun is still streaming down from directly overhead.
The transition between the two skies is breath-taking; a pure white blanket of cotton. It is apparent these clouds are the shape of the purple ones yet to come, but the storm is not in them. I am standing on the very cusp of the storm itself. Nature is curiously quiet around me. The leaves on the tree dance in silence and there is no birdsong. The crickets are still. My surroundings are even devoid of human interlopers for the moment.
Even as I write the sky is darkening. The quality of the light changes and fades. Lacking a camera, I struggle to entrench this magnificent image into my memory. I am once again reminded of why I loved the rain so very much. I eagerly wait with anticipation the sound of the rain spattering on my window and striking the roof. The smell of the damp earth and the even heavier air that remains after the storm passes are some of my favorite sensations. Perhaps today, for the first of the new season, it will be cooler when the rain passes. The event on the horizon might just be the leading edge of Fall.
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