Friday Night

It started with a few taps,

large splats on our skylight, 

but with that came a distant

and deep thunder, that rolling

kind you feel as much as hear,

so we closed ourselves outside,

put our feet up, toes touching

on a shared footrest as we sat,

expectant and ready for the show. 

Each minute the clouds 

inched themselves into new 

formations, a graceful and slow dance,

a painter’s swirl of cobalt 

blue, titanium white, and every shade

of gray imaginable.  The rain fell,

first in the sporadic splatters

of large drops that plop, then 

the falling of sheets, and finally

the ebbing into mist.  Before it was over,

the blues deepened into purples,

the whole earth smelled new,

and we were up and dancing, 

the setting sun our twinkle lighting,

the retreating thunder and gentle rhythm 

of spring rain the only music


—C.L. Fisher, May 2020

Unless otherwise indicated, all content, including writing and images, are the work of C.L. Fisher and may not be copied, used, or distributed without permission.

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