Pre Mountain Storm…

Hear the wind, gently whispering in the trees, leaves turning over, barely audible, then a gust, sounds like rushing waters.

Rumbling thunder, clouds are lite gray at first, fading to dismal black, and I realize there’s no turning back, lightning seen in the distance.

Rupert ( our dog)…strong sniffing in the air, as if the smell of rain, is virgin and rare, I lower the back porch umbrella, in anticipation of it becoming a kite.

I really don’t mind, if it falls hard as cats and dogs, I’ll just grab my my journal, and write in the mountain fog….Pre -Storm... who could ask for more.

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