Storm chasing

 It rained hard for about twenty minutes. Not enough, after all these weeks of hot and dry. The crepe myrtles are just blooming. For the first time in a decade, South and East have hot pink and fuschia clusters. The first and largest, North, will break out in a white crown that will last all summer. Little West, closest to me, I can't remember it blooming but the only color left out there would be lilac. 

All over town, businesses and public parks favor the rich, dark red. Some lean berry red, others, fresh blood. Lawrenceville calls itself  "Crepe Myrtle City".

Jim planted these on the points of the compass so I could

"Do witchy stuff". Naked. In the dark. 

My man was a lot of fun. 

The weather radar promises this will be an all-night rain. My favorite kind.

The garden pots on the dye-deck have been neglected. 

I never did a cleanup after the last dyefest. The dye powders are safe inside. Everything else - the shakers, spoons, table moppers - is right where I dropped it. 

All will be fresh tomorrow. 

~~~

        I breathe "O    Shun" and the rasp of saltwater flashes through me.

Slow rollers, black with weeds, furl out across the beach. 

Crabs cussing

scuttle back to the waterline

or decide to stay and stink.

From a cottage away, cigarette and meat smoke. 

A woman steps out the back door, slips off her wet suit, and hangs it on the line.

She doesn't yet know how sunburnt she is.