Thunderstorm

 ious deities of light and murder establishes this moiety of rumoured crisis. Warm rises like royalty on the pounce. It meets the pressured orb cold of world seen as world. The deities, yay, but hold tight. As afterthought of some middling, you watch and wait. Electrical charge represents ontological condition, except ontology doesn't exist, not yet anyway. Why should it, the battle is won and lost. A beautified bolt snaps to the clouds--id est deities--and sparks fly with frolicsome danger. The flash produces blind assent including, but not exclusive to, the death of Death. By all accounts, all accounts have something to say. So lightning happens, just as nothing does. Tied to this alarming chariot we have the knell of thunder. It booms with practical voice and are we fucked? Does it matter? The train-like sound travels 160 yards a second and becomes your neighbour. You must hold it all together or fetch a wildling: either way is fine. The deities, gods and goddesses we call them, powers, extraneous meddling, the entire momentous swarm realizes condition. You become entranced because what reasons have you to not? Rain, meanwhile, feeds the garden and the flood.