Little rogue storms keep popping up in that rumbly way tonight. If you look closely, you can see the sun behind it all. The temperature has dropped fifteen degrees from the stuffy 87-feels-like-94 that it was an hour ago. I know these things are dangerous and I know I should be planning and such, but these minutes before the storm are my favorite. Before the rain. Before the ugly.
As I write this, the rain is beginning the tapdance on my windows. It’s time for coffee and scribbling.
No Telling 
I love the storms!! It sounds like you have the perfect evening planned.
I’ve been working on a few storm poems, wherein I try to make sense of all the destruction across the parts of America Bush wants you to forget about.Also, don’t you think it’s funny that storms and tornadoes hop over bigger towns and demolish the podunk places where people don’t have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of? I think there’s a poem (or scientific explanation) there, and I’m intent on finding it.I’m being published, btw!
More details on publication, please! Congratulations!And the storm poems/stories – I’ve been writing them forever. I believe we have themes that follow our writing around our whole lives.
Just found you page….and reading the words gave me the distinct feeling of having you in the room speaking to me….good to hear your voice my friend!
There you are! You know you’re going to have to cruise on down for the Summer Institute, especially the Write-a-thon. We wouldn’t have either one without you, gal.