Summer Storm

Little did he know—sitting on that porch, with that cup of coffee, with that wide-eyed smile every time the thunder cracked;

how dangerous it could be—sheltered from the rain, warm in his coat, but just as near to the dry, electric sizzle that warned him;

how close he'd come—when the tree across the road, splintered by the blitz, was transmorgified into charcoal;

but even if he did know—and perhaps he knew after all—perhaps that made it better, made it louder, made the tingle running up his spine a little bit more... more really real.