Thunder

Low rumblings vibrate the glass held neatly in their frame. Bodies of water ripple, breaking them from the routine of a calm surface.

Pulse skips to the sound, the feeling, the power. Everything gets dark. The joys of artificial light.

The darkness it brings is almost mellow, without so much as a spark. It grows, it grows.

So take shelter lest you are one who enjoys such things, such risks. This isn't for those with weak bodies.

It would envelope you with awe and fear. It's every movement slow but firm, moving ever closer to its intended purpose.

It rains, it rains.