50 Miles south of Wells, Nevada
Cumulus clouds have massed together,
lumbering into a determined singularity,
filling the sky until earth melted into it.
Cloud bottoms, flattened dark grey,
threatened a gently rolling landscape.
The straightaway road disappeared
into the horizon as if earth had come to an end.
An occasional sun beam managed to peek through,
momentarily lighting small patches of scenery
dotted with black angus cattle.
Drive on?
Yes, drive on, we said.
A mile away something dropped, something massive
and dark, and everything seemed to become motionless.
The car shuddered against the wind driven rain;
drops the size of our thumbs attempted to pound
everything senseless. Even at five miles per hour
we were driving nearly blind.
This is madness, we shouted, madness.
And then came the clamor of hail.
Drive on?
Yes, drive on, we shouted.
We drove on through the bellowing chaos,
past lightning leaping from the earth,
thunder crashing into everything.
We laughed.
Yahoo! we laughed,
white knuckled we laughed.
Bring on the madness.
Drive on, we cheered. Drive on.
On out the other side into Wells, Nevada.
Safe and sound.
At the restaurant Susan ordered wine.
I ordered tequila.
Never again, we moaned.
From: Memories Of Things Left Behind
Unpub. MS p. 39
