Aat lllaaaaaast

The CD player in my head went right to Etta James when the dark clouds rolled in late today, the air turned cool(er), an artillery barrage of thunder opened to the west and big, fat, heavy drops of rain started falling.

Eventually it was more shower than rain, but even that was welcome after all these dry, hot days.

Our friend Ferron (click that link to see other places I've mentioned him) had been sitting with me on the porch -- he'd come to pick up the incredible book about Burning Man he'd dropped off ("Burning Book," the best graphically designed piece I've ever seen, ever, and I devoured it cover to cover in one sitting today, laughing here and crying there) and to drop off a wicker picnic basket he'd scrounged up somewhere and didn't have room for and thought we'd like, as well as a DVD about Wilma's effect on Fantasy Fest '05, and to recount the entire plot of "Apocalypto" during a tall glass of limeade, which led to a discussion about pre-Columbian people. . . .

When the big drops started, I used painter's tape to waterproof "Burning Book" in a big Key West Aloe bag, and Ferron pedaled off to his place near El Siboney.

So I watched the drops fall by myself, and when they were done the little peeper frogs chirped "happy" as I looked at the wet Rolling Stones tongues of mussaenda in after-storm light, the sky opal.