No thunder in the night

After a very warm day when no breeze shifted the blinds, the western sky darkened and a hint of rain traveled on the winds and through the window where I wrote the first of the reviews I needed to finish. Breathing deeply, I smiled, got up and took off all my clothes to better enjoy the cool, moist breeze. Rain. Wind. Black sky lighting up and forks of lightning ripping the gathering clouds, but no crack of thunder followed. The storm was too far away. A little after eight, gold flushed the horizon where the following edge of the storm lifted as the sun went down. A spatter of drops marked the screen and night filled the flaming gap where the sun vanished. The winds picked up and the blinds clattered against the window frame, but no rain fell. Only a few spattered drops pregnant with promise and empty and hollow as a miser's heart shattered against the screen, taunting and dancing out of range while night cloaked the clouds and lightning took its show elsewhere.

The rain fell somewhere last night, not here, teased and taunted, but failed to give up the goods. Even the cool, moist breeze failed. I finished another book and turned out the light, covers thrown back to avoid the rising heat of sleep. I finally slept and dreamed, but the wraiths of night failed to linger long enough to leave me with anything but rest. Not such a bad trade-off considering the pace of the past few days. I woke a little while ago, hungry but rested, before the night gave ground to the rising sun.

The sky is pale lavender and the street lights have faded. Birds sing the sun up to the horizon and into the vaulted sky while the morning breeze whispers through the window with dew on its breath. Too soon I'll have to rise and dress and begin another day, write another review, work a few more hours and make the daily rounds.