Thunderstorm at the moment.
Summer's last push?
An anemic attempt, at best. All the components are present and accounted for: Rain. Periodic flashes of white. Cracks of thunder. But there is a tepidness at play here.
This storm is just an old man, slow moving, brittle-boned; muttering obscenities mostly under his breath; filled not so much with fury, as anguish.
And just like that, gone.
