thunder_without_rain ovenbird The air is dense with the death wish of fire. There’s a smell, heavy, rotting with a dry scorched aftertaste that settles in the throat. In the distance: thunder, and enough sparks to set the sky to smouldering. Acoustic shock waves are aerial combers rolling over the threshold of night. The storm could relieve the land of its thirst, but it withholds the rain like a spiteful lover, punishing and jealous. I lie in bed in the dark letting the rumble set up camp in my chest. It shoves my heart over to make room. I feel the swell of a rising tide and the hot pressure of tears building strength behind my eyelids. I let them fall. This is how you irrigate the imagination: with saltwater and surrender. 250901 what's it to you? who go blather from