I dreamt about pealing thunder this morning, and then woke up to the sounds of distant grumbling booms quaking the dimly lit dawn. The air was golden in the north east, and the panorama darkened in the southeast as if someone thew a blanket over the sky. I made myself iced tea and noticed the parallelism as the grey and gold converged, perpendicular above my patio. The ice cubes cracked and shifted in distress as I plunked them into the hot breakfast tea. It was the 15th of august, a mild summer– humid the day before (although 2 girls I met from Southern Florida shook their head at my remark). The rain came down in tablespoon-sized droplets as I watched water pooling in the gutter burst a dam of leaves and dirt and rush its way down the street, destroying what other obstacles lay in its path. The air took on the distinct, fresh scent signature of summer rain on warm pavement. I opened the doors and windows of my house and curled up in a chair on the porch with my tea to enjoy the collision reverberating above me.