Racing the Storm

by Mary Stebbins Taitt · 244 words

Today, out on my motorcycle, I stopped for a walk at Pier Park. The sky was blue and I left my tank bag open for the sun to dry the Metroparks map that had gotten soaked in a torrential downpour when I rode for an hour in the rain yesterday. I looked twice at the sky--still blue--but somehow ominous--was it safe for a walk? It looked it but didn't feel it.

Out on the end of the pier, I heard thunder, and looked behind me to see a very black sky rolling in. I ran for the bike, rode home fast--fast for me, anyway. I just didn't want to get soaked two days in a row.

As I drove home, the air thickened with moister, lightning licked the sky, the clouds lowered until I thought they'd swallow me. Clouds brushed my cheeks and bare arms.

I pulled in the driveway, ripped up the garage door, and pulled in--and it started to rain--I ran into the house, laughing happily to have avoided another soaking. It's still raining.

It reminded me of another day, when I was in Baldwinsville. I parked and walked. At the far end of the walk, thunder started--it was a long run and ride back. I stopped, in spite of the oncoming storm, to take this picture, which I fiddled with on photoshop--but it was a real photo, taken that real day as the storm came in and I ran and ran.

this is a story I wrote for Cowbird.
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