Monday Night - Ligthning Holes

Lightning they call this. Thunder. Rain. There's real danger in this. Lulls and pauses that dramatists are noting for malevolent pace. Never heard rain sound so frightened, so keen to get down; never seen a moon look so guilty for being a part of this ripping of paddock-size sheets into a night stripped back in a flash of cloud, made so white as to render it cloudless. I've opened the window: this eager spree of rain descending; a long dragged sheen of thunder splitting itself with electric glee, articulating mountainsides and the desert's long curiosities. Its creeping toward the city. In from over the island. And I with it wait wet for little spires to explode. Great storm. Reply to ventures up north. To holes in old ground big as storm clouds.