As I hung up the phone I could feel the storm building
up in Westchester north of the city. Her words dank like
the afternoon air of New York in August. Those days
when the city begs for the relief only found in an angry
Remember that day in Colorado? You asked me if I still
loved you as we drove to Aspen in alternating rounds
of rumble and silence. And the clouds poured down
from the mountain peaks like cotton balls spilled from
their bag. The soft edges melting into the green slopes
as they rolled down to the valley. In the distance sky,
the gods of air, fire and water clashed unseen, save for
the flash and report. Thunder rattled with a sound
best described as titans tossing trash cans in the
alleyways of heaven. And then came the rains, first
with fury, finally with a sporadic gentleness and a glimpse
of reassuring sun.
Do I still love you? I smiled and thought it a silly question.
Weather, unlike climate, is a transient condition. On my
way out the door, I grabbed an umbrella just in case
the distant squall turned southward and sun was again
overwhelmed by a passing storm.