Eight forty and it's still hot out there. In the mid eighties and the sky is not so dark that I cannot see the storm clouds blowing in. Here and there a frantic, chilled breeze whips through the trees outside my office window as it tries to escape the low hot air. I don't mind the heat but there's no resisting the cool wind against my skin. It feels good.

I've just caught the slightest scent of fire in the air. The unmistakable aura of wood burning. The perfume is comforting in winter when you can imagine couples snuggling up to the warm crackle of fire with a glass of red wine. In the summer it's the smell of fear and destruction.

Lighting is flashing beyond the trees to the South.
No question about those thunderstorms now.





more shots of lightning tomorrow