(no subject)
Dec. 8th, 2005 06:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shapeofthingsThis afternoon the air is thick and heavy with the scent of frangipanni. The city waits, still and sultry, for what seems like the inevitable. The light is dull, yellowed around the edges and the sky hangs low. A dog is barking, not far away, the anticipation all too much. Intermittent wind swirls thought the waiting city and thunder faintly echoes above. To the south west, the sky is thickening, the blue-grey clouds split by occasional brilliant flare of light.
The humidity gets personal, wrapping itself around me and forcing long, delicate fingers into my lungs. Still the storm hesitates, building force over the mountain and taunting the city still sighing with the promise of rain. The wind gathers and pulls at the curtains. Doors slam and the dog is suddenly quiet. The trees shudder in anticipation and thunder lust. Then it hits.
More ferocious than anticipated, the skies throw rain about in all defiance of gravity. The trees shake and bend in the frantic dance of summer, the frenzy of life. The air is rich with the stuff, the smell of ozone on the breeze, and the city trembles in delight. Adrenaline-charged and racing, breathing deep in paroxysms of pleasure, we drink the violent bounty of a summer storm.
The humidity gets personal, wrapping itself around me and forcing long, delicate fingers into my lungs. Still the storm hesitates, building force over the mountain and taunting the city still sighing with the promise of rain. The wind gathers and pulls at the curtains. Doors slam and the dog is suddenly quiet. The trees shudder in anticipation and thunder lust. Then it hits.
More ferocious than anticipated, the skies throw rain about in all defiance of gravity. The trees shake and bend in the frantic dance of summer, the frenzy of life. The air is rich with the stuff, the smell of ozone on the breeze, and the city trembles in delight. Adrenaline-charged and racing, breathing deep in paroxysms of pleasure, we drink the violent bounty of a summer storm.