One wonders, doesn’t one?
On afternoons, still and humid. As a large darkness breaks the horizon. Gray and blowing. A baritone rumble announces some intent.
The rest of the world is silenced, capable of no worthy response. The rest of the world’s been overtalked.
The rumble moves across the distance. Gray and blowing. Gifting me with silence. Its next breath a repeat, a demand. Look upward and know you are small.
Joy in your size, in the scheme of things. Joy in the thought that perhaps a cosmic occurrence lent itself to the gray and it voiced its gratitude in a deep baritone wave.