It's the lightning that wakes me, bright flashes through the drawn blinds, like someone flicked a flashlight in front of my face. Shortly after: thunder. Massive, unapologetic shelling. My half-sleeping mind connects dots to the ancient mythologies, to hammers and wars in the heavens, for a brief rest between assaults it makes sense.
I wake again, later, after it's over, just before it is time to rise. Everything is quiet. I miss the immediacy of the storm. Maybe I just miss feeling anything properly, like it's not wrapped in so much brick cotton. I begin to dig through the pile of work, only to realize my head is elsewhere, circling the green buds outside the window, twirling off into the clouds, swimming at the bottom of the city's underground.
The rain continues, noncommittal, foliage expanding before our eyes; the doves are back on the fire escape with their tender promises. A new story weaves itself into your mind, there's no turning it down. Curiosity moves you forward.
It seems more like a gift, than anything you've seen.
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