Last night there was thunder-bumpers stomping over the mountains to the east, which is nicely framed by our sliding glass door. We spent the evening on the deck, watching the hot blue sky trampled into gray mud by the approaching front. The invading atmospheric forces had siege equipment, stacked towers of jagged threat masked in water vapor. Sizzle-crack-thaboom-oom-boom! We watched until we could see the lightning tickling the neighbor’s land and arcing over our heads, then retired inside.
Around 9:30 the storm went silent, and in the ominous calm a friend of Othello’s appeared at our door. I looked him in the eyes, and saw nothing beyond humanity, but there has to be a connection there. As confirmation, within hours of his arrival, the storm was back in force, lightning striking all around the house, thunderclaps colliding into a nearly continuous cumulonimbus shout, the landscape strobing through shades of flashbulb, arc welder, and epiphany.
The night was spectacular, but not restful. I dropped Bridgette at work and went to my office, to discover that Stormbrought had an extensive reach; he had, from my home 30 miles away, scrambled the servers in the building and fried one of the hubs. It took some time to fix them, but here we are….
Clearly, I need to consider what sacrifice to make to this Visitor of Othello’s, to prevent further displays. I knew that teenaged boys are dangerous, but I had no idea what magnitude of risk they represent.
Crossposted from Epinepherine & Sophistry