A rare peal of thunder got through drywall and industrial
carpets to my ears. I heard it, decisive, in the deep despair halfway
between lunch and quitting time and it was the only sign beyond the
clinical forecast on the screen that there was a world outside at all.
At the end of the day, the only sign of the broken heat is the
half-puddled rain. I can only imagine what lightshow I missed while my
nose was to the grindstone.
I can only imagine what I miss every day under artificial light. Snow piles up neatly around my car, streets having been plowed while I waited. The drought breaks while I shop online. Entire warm and cold fronts live and die while it is too much trouble for me to take lunch to the park.
I miss it all, with the adult necessity of not being able to lie on one's back and look at the clouds or that will be all you're able to do.
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