Last night about midnight, I got out of bed to bring the laundry in just as the first claps of thunder started. All night, it rained in driving sheets, the wind howled, the hail pinged and the lightning forewarned the thunder which boomed. Car alarms repeatedly went off on the street below as accompaniment to the symphonic cacophony of weather. When we got up this morning, it was still storming and wave after wave of thunderstorms have brought heavy rain and hail all day. I have never been in a storm that has lasted so long.
I have been surviving this chilly and damp day cooped up in our apartment by wearing my striped long underwear and streaming movie adaptations of Jane Austen novels of which The Chicken has no interest. James has been snuggled under a blanket on the chesterfield reading chemistry papers. But given the rain, he wonders if his time would be better spent turning our wooden bed frame into an Ark. I have been aiding the effort by scheming live traps for the pigeons that poop on our balcony. They might just come in handy for finding dry land forty days from now.
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