by Robert Cory
Hereabouts, talk of weather and its ingredients is the most common currency.
Spontaneously exchanged by visitor and resident alike.
E.g.- this afternoon: mostly cloudy.
Showers? A chance for more.
Prescient as a spectator’s olés salvos of lightning not so distant.
Prophecy: Thunder.
Rain.
Faces gaze southwesterly.
Charted isobars of gust close ranks awaiting orders to press eastward along a line TBD.
Keep one eye on the top of the tallest neighborhood tree.
Bodies of water parade surface ripples, the muted glissando of an off and on light breeze.
Idle bass boats bob at play.
The a capella chants of the native cricket population reverberate beneath a ceiling of heavenly overcast and roil.
Barometer: falling.
Temperature:g oose bumps likely.
Lemon-blush jonquil blooms wobble atop their stalks.
Radar screens display.
Windows shut, latch and roll.
Static snaps across AM radio.
Cattails curtsey & sway.
Robin, wren and mourning dove hunker.
Invisible forces infest the still.
The heads are talking.
They say the storm will pass.
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