Robert (gurdonark) wrote,
Robert
gurdonark

dark wonderful skies

When I emerged from Firehouse Subs, the rain fell like ammunition from a sky-borne gatling gun. Summer rain cuts me to the quick with joy. He who would stay dry on such an evening will be all wet in the coming times.

When I first arrived home, some ten minutes' drive away, the rain fell like soft dew: the kind of dew that hangs lightly from dandelions past their bloom, and congeals in huge drops apparent only in photographs. Then the sky opened like a can of sardines in a deep blue corn sauce, and swam down to earth like a mackerel run under a huge barge parked in the Santa Monica Bay by Redondo Beach.

Thunder roared a message to my dogs to which they replied in barking kind. My wife turned off the sprinklers, because the unexpected rain made water superfluous in one sense, and over-abundant in another.

Texas Summer is an ornate and heated thing, like going on a date with hair mousse', a maroon leisure suit, and the aftermath of an hour spent under a blow-dryer while the future feathers out like layered hair. When the rain comes, then the temperature drops and everyone and everything heaves a sigh of relief. People in Texas are big on iced tea--which I despise--and the relief of cool contrasts, which I adore.

Tonight a metric at the Creative Commons website noted that 130 million things have been labeled CC.
The sharing economy is in session, like raindrops that keep falling.
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