The many blues of a thunderstorm.

I love the sound of weather, the patter of sleet, the drive of rain, the quiet whooshes of wind bursts. Body curling among blankets and books, face pressing against cold glass, legs stepping from the dry bubble of an umbrella, listening, I immerse myself in the simple rhythms and harmonies of its patterns. I let it flow through me, around me, circling my body as if I am a rock in its a stream. Submerging me - wet and cold; hot then warm; forceful but soft.