Storm Colors

         You know it's coming. There's a smell in the air and an intense anticipation in the sky. The wind waits while dirty cotton clouds blanket the earth, changing the look of everything. With the harsh yellow sun now reduced to a memeory, you see the world now only in storm colors.

         When I awoke this morning, everything was cold and steely. The clouds had put an edge on everything, bringing out the true colors that a sunny, hazy day could not. From the tint of the grass I knew a few drops of rain had fallen already, but the dark earth underneath was still hard. Yes, more was still to come. Probably much more. With no disrespect to the sun, these are the happiest days of my life.
         I left the house, briefcase in hand, headed for the car. The car too shines better in this new light. A clean metal sheen slides along all the creases, reflecting the coolness of the sky and amplifying its own coolness. I might have even bought the car on a day like this. Look how smooth it looks, backdropped by the trees in a shade of kelly green reserved mostly for the emerald isle. This is the green all other greens wish to be. This is the green of growth, of life, of storms.
         Once in the car, I watch the rain begin again and collect on my windshield. It gathers in beads, then skates across the glass in a gleeful, meandering sort of way. In the past, I've spent many a happy summer's day trapped in the car. Today I spend it driving to work.
         Back in that summer it might've been the end of a day at the beach or a day in the woods. We'd run, laughing, to the car in a sudden downpour under smokey skies. I would pop the lock that never seemed to open fast enough, then we'd slide inside and sit shivering while the rain danced across the hood. We watched, too many times to count, the world turn to midday's twilight until the windows were too foggy to see.
         With the windows steamed white, we'd catch our breath, just for effect. In the silence our eyes would lock and we'd see each other in our storm colors. Through damp clothes, matted hair and chattering teeth, our love found its way. The caccophony of raindrops was enough mood music to fuel our passion. The storm did the rest.
         But those days are long past, and nowadays I turn on my defrost as I make my commute. My love in a storm then has evolved into my love of the storm now. The unusual red lightning, fighting its way across the sky today is the soft kiss from yesteryear. The invisible thunder is the laughter of my prime.
         Even the storm colors serve to remind me as I arrive at work. The rust colored brick of my office, normally orange, are the same shade as my then love's eyes. They stare at me through the coal grey sky and across the years. My headlights in a puddle are the sunsets on that forgotten beach. The trees, green against grey, are the timbers from my mind.
         Oh the memories! The longer I linger in daytime dusk, the more I soak in the colors around. I hoist my umbrella and head towards the office. I avoid the rain and avoid the memories of those wet summer days. I tug my coat tighter and bustle my way to the door. I cast a last glance to my stormy sky, where I find a raindow smiling back at me.