as the storm brewed and my soul stirred

around these parts, the air is pregnant with humidity and the threat of a downpour. the elms dance in the eight o'clock twilight and as the sun sets, the road quiets. lamps turn on and the blue glow of television streaming from old ranch houses is seen from sidewalk vantage points. and i shut down. change into something that doesn't involve a tight, high waist or skinny stilettos. something with elastic and give and cotton. and i sit and wait. for the drops to sprinkle on the roof and feel again God's promise, that He will wash all things new. even this little old house and the people in it.