A Good Day To Breathe

I looked down my street
and saw boiling slate clouds behind the steeple.
Normally the steeple looks gray,
but it looked white against that backdrop.
The other direction was bright with piled gleaming white clouds.
Toward the darkness again,
three seagulls small in their distance,
riding in advance of the lightning that flashed behind them,
and the thunder that rumbled toward us.
My wind chimes played crazily when the wind picked up.
Cool air coming.
A greening sky.
We ate our dinner almost silent.
"I like the ones that snap," Talia said.
"I like the growling ones, too, though," I said.
Soft at first, the rain poured down.
Jeff and I went out on the porch and sat down on the loveseat.
One by one, the kids followed.
Three climbed onto us with their bony wiggles.
That scent -- that God-cleaned air full of cold moisture.
I leaned back and looked up at the changing light in the sky,
and the flashes,
and the storm drain across the street with the spouting insurge.
It's a good day to breathe.