TONIGHT . . .

TONIGHT . . .

There’s a low, steady roll of thunder, the popcorn sputter of raindrops striking the air conditioner, and the breathy swish of trees brushing their wet sleeves against the night.

There’s wind, and it makes the wind chimes play their obsessive, four-note melody over and over, the hollow wood chimes softly rattling like bones.

I like it . . . this roll, strike, swish, chime, and rattle. Roll, strike, swish, chime, and rattle.

It makes me sad in the way I like to be sad.