100 Words: Plop, Chatter, Hiss

     There's enough drizzle to set a gloomy mood, but not enough to scare away the workers at the apartments down the street. They've got edgers and weed-eaters and mowers out mighty early today. The roar vibrates across the wet asphalt, strikes the wooden fence, bounces against my house, whips into my living room.

     I'm disappointed. I like to open the door, listen to the trickle of water run across my roof, gather in the rain gutter, and plop onto the patio. I like to listen to birds gossip across powerlines. I like to hear the hiss as precipitation hits pavement.

Five minutes earlier...

One glance out the window had me straying outdoors to take in the bold view of the western sky. The afternoon sun cast an ethereal glow across every surface, slipping over puddles and crawling up fences. The varying greens and yellows of trees and grass seemed enhanced and alive. Surreal.

I stepped back into the house just long enough to grab my camera for a quick snapshot of this unbelievably cartoon-like world, but by the time I returned the sky had deepened to a cold slate blue. The clouds upon clouds raced one another across the expanse. Gusts of chilled wind blew me backward, perhaps in warning, but I persevered to the end of my driveway.

The black silhouettes of three small birds above me caught my eye. Their little wings flapped with such intensity against the force of the wind, but they remained stationary. Eventually they gave in and swooped sideways and then back around to return to some safe, dry place nowhere near their intended destination.

The white cracks of lightning and simultaneous rumble of thunder reverberated just under my skin. Something omniscient hovered over me in the form of a darkened raincloud. I looked to the sky and thought of demons.

Whether or not they were there, whether or not they intended to have me for a light afternoon snack, I did not know, nor was I about to stick around to find out. I headed straight for the house, calmly, so as not to attract their attention. Strong, insistent gusts pushed me over the threshold. As soon as I slammed the door, they began knocking on the other side.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Or maybe it was just an ordinary, violent, summer storm.

We Are Awash

It is one o'clock early Tuesday morning here in the Texas Panhandle, and we are finally experiencing the first significant rainfall of the year. The lightning streaks across the dusty red sky, scaring the dogs in the neighborhood. The thunder grumbles back at their barking, like a bear just out of hibernation.
I lean my head out the back door to witness the dots across my patio. The first drops hiss and steam, releasing the heat of the day into the welcoming night. Within seconds the cement is covered with reflective circles of suicidal drops and within minutes, we are flooded. I can't resist stepping out to have a nice summer shower.
The boys are already out there, soaking it in, laughing at each other. Our feet are submerged. We wade through the floating twigs and leaves without much care for the mess. An unseen neighbor lets out a loud whoop of joy, and others are heard laughing at the craziness of it.
We are loathe to force ourselves indoors, but soon enough, we must seek shelter. The torrents are too strong. The flowerbeds are flooded, and the streets are filling. The television is warning us to stay indoors, do not drive across intersections covered in water, take caution with our travel. It is unlikely that we will be going anywhere tonight.
 I stand at the front door and spy others leaning out their screen doors just like me. I stretch my hand out to capture rain pouring off the roof and come back with a palm full of muddy water. Finally, the shingles will be showered clean.
I shiver and shake off the beautiful chill.
We leave the doors and windows open.