I sat at the picnic table, holding down the pages of my book, and watched the steel wool clouds roll in from the west. When the wind began to hurl itself against me, and I felt the inner curl that precedes a shiver, I picked up and moved inside.
The rain came. I smiled, waiting for the predicted fireworks.
To the south, almost clear sky. To the west, paler clouds, and after half an hour, clear sky.
The the north: The Calm Before the Storm.
One of These Things Is Not Like the Other . . .
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