On the Waterfront

The sky, she hurls thunderbolts at me this afternoon. 

I am grateful she has not been working on her aim, with every miss accompanied by low rumbles. Perhaps I am not her target. Perhaps I speak too soon.

From the distance the lightning crashes inches closer, then leaps. Light with sound trailing. From seconds to almost immediate feedback. Louder yet, the octaves rise. Snapping crackles like a celestial whip from the heavens. Have the Seraphims abandoned their flaming swords?

Rain chimes in approval, her relentless drops hitting the pavement, ricocheting off the structures we built. Quick-a-pitter-pat-rap. The 26-story apartment where I hid, reduced small. Amid their revelry.

With wind, equally ferocious, creating a blanket of endless cascade, to fall at an oblique angle. Ubiquitous and dominant. The next apartment block less than 10 meters away can barely be seen with the exception of tiny window panes, spider-like eyes peering.

The waterfront that greets me every morning has ceased to exist. The super tankers that park in the distance, like beached whales, have all been eradicated. A lovely vision of grey, a lovely chilling afternoon. A welcomed change.