I started on a bike ride today. Hot and sticky with what looked to be a couple of storm cells with a gap. Five miles in and the two cells joined forming a typical south Louisiana afternoon storm. Fleece and powerful. Fast and unpredictable like a snake.
In 2 minutes I went from a leisurely 18 mph, to 28 and my hair on end from the lightning cracking in the field beside me. I made it to a park and am currently under a picnic area. Me and a scruffy ass river mutt that wandered up.
There’s something about a storm, like a peaceful violence and big storms remind me of my grandmother. She loved storms. I do too I mean except when I’m perched on top of a carbon fiber lightning rod that could get fused to my taint by an errant flash.
If I was on Twitter or used those Facebook live or Instagram stories or Snapchat, or whatever the kids these days do, I would be sending out sick photo updates. Instead I’ve moved into a cinderblock park bathroom waiting for a reprieve.
So I’ll sit. And I’ll wait. And I’ll enjoy a summer squall and work on this yacht rock song.
I grew up by the water
I grew up in the wind
Sand and salt
Tern and gull
The squalls of summer pull