Summer Storm

I could smell it in the air before the first rolls of thunder sounded. Seated at my desk on the third floor I have a perfect view of the neighbors' roofs and the clouds above them. The trees look a bit muted against the grey skies but will be glistening green once the summer storm passes and blue prevails above. The rain has started to fall, gently so far, not enough to silence the birds. Can anything smell so pure and as sweet as a summer storm? The wind has joined the storm's symphony, making the chorus of leaves and branches sing and dance. I am on notice now to watch the windows as the rain starts to fall harder. Did I close the windows in my car? Is that rain I feel on my hand? Not the best place to have the laptop I suppose, but a price we pay for a good view. Perhaps I should stop, but I already see a hint of light and soft blue peeking through the clouds a few blocks over. I missed this in California, a beautiful summer day with enough sense to welcome a passing rainstorm, a drink for the gardens, a rinse of the world. Shall I run to the driveway and jump in a puddle? I would if it was hotter outside, but really August rainstorms are perfect for puddle splashing. The birds are quiet now, I don't even hear any cars on the street, just the rain, and the thunder, and clicking of the keys under my fingers.

And as quickly as it began, it is ended.