The Storm at UCSB

Time slows as angry clouds obliterate the horizon. The wind rises. Outside my window, gangly eucalypts slowly jolt and shudder, recoiling from the coming fury. A thick mist descends from the hills, and the sky suddenly seems oppressive, bearing down from above. It is time to leave, and quickly. Stepping outside, I smell the coming rain. It smells of New Zealand, of picnics hurriedly cleared away and thrown into cars, the last lick of ice cream hastily sucked from its cone before racing the winds to a summer cabin, slamming doors and fastening hatches, sitting at the window, staring wild-eyed at the fizzing lightning, counting seconds in giddy anticipation of the inevitable bone-churning groan of thunder.

The wind buffets my face as I unhook my bicycle, tearing at my hair. The first fat droplets slam onto the hot asphalt. From now on there is a wager, an excitement that fills me. Will I beat the storm home or not? The streets are empty, and I enjoy the illicit thrill of running the red lights, feeling the wind pushing against me.

Suddenly though, I remember that I need milk for my tea, and I screech to a stop outside the corner store. The shop-boy, sullenly pimpled, bleats a price as I slip the bottle of milk into my bag at the till. I hand him a note. ‘Smells like rain’ I comment, as I make for the exit. Pedaling away I look back to see him at the store entrance, glancing about before he inhales deeply, frowns, and shuffles back inside.

The air is electric by the time I pull into the drive and drag my bike up the stair under the porch. The neighboring fence is billowing steam, as fat raindrops pelt into the sun heated woodwork with ever more abandon. I work fast, the kettle is on, and the tea poured before I unplug the appliances. Just as I settle myself at my desk and take the first sip, the lamps dim, and a flash of silver pierces the evening sky. I sit back and close my eyes, and the negative remains.