(no subject)

[katallison]

Really, few life pleasures can compare with that interlude at the end of a hot sticky June day, when the clouds begin to roil and turn dark and weird, and one settles back with a good book and a beer and the Weather Channel showing the lurid scarlet blobs boiling up on the radar. I shall now go stand on the back deck for a bit, smelling the ozone and the cool sudden blasts of wind, and wait for the storm to hammer us.