The day’s hours were worn down and a sudden sunset, that resembled a master’s painted glimpse of Valhalla was upon us, its majesty of deepest blue, blood red and black.
From our tenth-floor skew, the river looked, for all, like a wrinkled sea expecting a storm. Boats moved to tie up before the dark body of windswept clouds arrived trailing a wall of downpour and flickering, electric thunder.
Our study group had run over, as they tend to do. Most of the members urgently moved to pack up (they’d be campus bound). An unpropitious rumble and fierce flare of light revealed that mild twilight had swiftly faded to a darkest stormy night.
My pinched-pleated curtains thrashed before this tempest for the almanacs, feigning a life they do not possess, like twin ghosts stirred to wrath.
“We can order in,” I offered, waving a menu from the downstairs bistro, as I closed my French, glass doors. “Why not eat here and wait it out?” I shrugged, “My treat,” I offered, “and I have wine.”
A pleasant embracement of relief and consent followed. What held more power, I wondered, the society, natures coerce or the gratis fare?
Later. as we parted, a young man paltered, repaying me with a quick hug and cheeky kiss. The valueless touch, was itself rewarded with a small grimace of a smile, but the sin did not overset the mood.
.
.
Songs for this:
Riders on the storm by the doors
Stormy by Classics IV