The planet’s changed since I’ve been inside. I slip out
again, barefoot, clutching a rinsed, ripened peach in my hand.
The downpour has lifted—now the air stirs. A darkness so
eerie I wrap my toes over the edge of the porch. Then the first lightning
flashes—I run.
I find the strangeness immediately. Five seconds: that scream
of white tears the sky. Then it’s gone. Wind gusts and tremors in the trees.
There is no sound. Nothing. The storm fires on—galaxies
crack over my head—trees toss, show their pale underbellies—
Silence.
Faintest brushing of wind. Nothing else.
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