Amidst our second summer heatwave, I rode home the other day beneath thunder and dark skies. Humidity, combined with 90F degree temperatures, are an oppressive mix. I hoped for a rain shower, but only a few drops fell. It was tantalizing.
 |
| Fragrant cornfields. |
I kept looking over my shoulder at the beautifully clustered clouds—a storm I hoped would eventually come—when the cornfield nearby aroused my senses. There is a time every summer when the tall stalks are ripening; the fragrance is like steaming ears of husked corn. The smell signifies the essence of Vermont farming to me, and despite what I suspected was a dry year, has been prime for growing and harvesting corn.
I kept pedaling towards home. The sky still echoed it's beautiful, longed-for music. I listened for the wet crescendo. My dad refers to a thunderstorm as,"God is moving furniture." Unfortunately, by the time I got home, the sofa and tables never fell through the roof. I changed and dove into the neighbor's pool.
IT finally rained here.
ReplyDelete