The Wet Begins

Last night, I was going to go to bed early (a side-effect of starting work at 5:30 in the morning every day.)

There was a little bit of wind. I walked outside, and saw lightning.

I figured the storm wouldn’t hit the Roadhouse though. It was a long way off.

I was beautifully, fantastically wrong.

The wind picked up, and I could feel the thunder rattle through my bed.

I grabbed my guitar and went out onto our back porch, sat on the couch, and played the storm in.

The staff quarters are underneath one giant, tin roof. The rain came, and it sounded like it was pounding. It sounded like the kind of onslaught that soaks you in moments. It wasn’t, but it was still enough to dance in. (It felt like Louisiana.)

 

We had a rain party. No one could sleep, so we played darts by torchlight and had to yell to be heard over the rain on the roof.

 

(Someone had popcorn. I haven’t had popcorn in ages.  Popcorn in the rain is one of those things that reminds me of growing up. On grey afternoons, my dad would look outside and say that it looks like a popcorn day, and we’d watch a movie at four o’clock in the afternoon and eat giant bowls of popcorn.)

 

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