A tang of ozone lingers in the air, even as the thunder cloud drifts west to plague others. Shaking our heads we reflect on the elemental fury we've weathered - who could have predicted it? We all survived intact, though bruised and baffled by the irrational force that upset our simple domesticity.
At least the stifling humidity has been blown away. Birdsong fills the air lifting our spirits. The tension that lined our brows and hunched our shoulders begins to evaporate, even as we work to repair the storm damage.
As the histrionics fade to history, our thoughts turn to face the future. May we modestly hope for peace, harmony and calm?