Thunder passed over, and lightening was seen through the gable of the pitched roof as I tried to compose this a while ago.
The city is drenched, the farm-house nearby has its insects in their nests, dad is downstairs sleepily watching the match, and I wonder, all crouched, if more details need to be spelt.
After some mind-meandering, I seem stoned enough, well, figuratively. Not forgetting that this preempts a routine night. God save.