Threats

It is 8:30 in the evening out there, even though it should be afternoon. The weather channel web site calls for urban and small stream flooding, and the air outside keeps tumbling towards a fit. I don’t think its raining yet, just dark and grumbling.

Now it has moved beyond grumbling. It is pounding, banging. I anticipate, just as I did yesterday in front of the elevator, when I heard high heels against the floor tiles, moving closer in a constant, striking, drone. Those heels turned out to be the new administrative assistant at the Historical Society, who seems nice enough. She sounded like a threat.

Now it is raining hard and flashing. Trees stir in the darkened day beyond the windows.




A few weeks ago, I saw The Day After Tomorrow. Can you tell?