( 4:21 PM )
Monday, July 12. Late Afternoon. Music Currently Playing: Explosions In the Sky, The Earth is Not...
It's monsoon season here in Tucson: At noon the sun boiled the ground. I fled the cubicle farm and went walking down by the Santa Rita with my water bottle. I stood under a Palo Verde tree cringing in the shade and listened to the sweet hiss of cicadas. Now it is past 4 and I just got back from walking again. The sky is bulging, erotic with grey breasts of thunderclouds, and to the south, every two or three minutes vericose bolts of lightning wipe the sky, expectorate massive belches of thunder that roll and continue toward the Catalinas. The hot wind is twisting up the yellow gray brush the way it does and even the flattened palms of the prickly pear are rocking, a hundred spikey green hands in the air, saluting, hallelujahing the coming storm. Hail to you big storm, hail to you hot wind, hail to you fat black drops of rain.
Only 2 weeks left in the cube farm, btw, and I am finished for good. It won't pass soon enough.
-M.S.
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