the air shimmers and cracks with electricity, making your hair stand on end when the lightning strikes the earth, illuminating the puffy clouds overhead like the firing of a cannon in thick smoke. the atmosphere almost tastes alive on your tongue, and holds a distinct scent of rain. dirt scuffs under your feet as you walk, heel, toe, heel, toe, and the sky is dark blue, like a sheet was dropped over the sky, falling in ripples and waves, while the rain beats an unsteady rhythm on the windowpane. the pinon trees shake gently, as if they aren't afraid of the storm, while the grasses quiver as small orbs of life fall on their stalks.
crackle, boom, the lightning and thunder play an endless game of tag while the wind tries to drown out their argument with the sky. rain drops pitter-patter softly, softly, almost as if they are afraid to excite the anger of the lightning. the wind shakes the dainty leaves of the daisies, and the hardly leaves of oak trees that stretch their stiff arms towards the sky, waving and shaking; bending and bowing under the stiff breath of the storm. an unfamiliar tune is tapped out on the glass panes by the rain drops driven before the wind, and the wood porch becomes streaked with moisture and dark with rain as it blows, and blows.