A Shakespearean night between storms. A "Gone With the Wind" overture.
Or perhaps more a night befitting Nikola Tesla—hair stands on end as electric potential buzzes and leaps. The storm ignites; my soul a conductor. Like an old sitcom episode I trip over myself. So fortunate, yet so forlorn.
What unbalances me?
This is the storm and this is the life. An imperfect storm unpredicted. A storm that refuses to quench parched fields . A storm that uproots majestic trees and unbeds rivers. A storm that fuels waterways and impregnates deltas, salts oceans and beats in renewal.