The sky outside my window is a venomous green. The thunder keeps rolling, a low murmur in the west, clearing its throat, booming out in short, guttural coughs. Nothing prolonged yet, just staccato growls. Nothing has been touched by rain yet, nothing has been undone, no Furies unleashed, no floodgates of heaven unbuttoned. Yet. But we shall see, we shall see.
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