11,041 vagabonds plus:
the hail storm
The promise of a bright blue sky lay south, but quick change storm-clouds massed directly above and unleashed a fury of hail unto the road before me, so hard I had to pull to the side on a quiet street, not because of lack of visibility, but because of the deafening pelting on roof and window like wayward golf balls from that first free lesson of one thousand golfers. Or, when I closed my eyes, like my space capsule being bombarded by meteors as I orbited the blue moon, the thick one-inch aeronautic steel protecting me and my co-pilot dog.
In the silent clearing after the quarter-sized hail, the streets looked as though covered in a thick layering of rock salt, noisily traversed and uneven like a deserted country gravel road. It all melted so quick, sunswept and steaming. The accompanying torrent of rain filled the ditches almost to overflowing, a reminder of my youth when after a storm the deep ditches were like rivers, when me and some neighbor kids would set objects afloat and running along side watch them move rapidly downstream, under drive ways and exiting silver storm pipes like submarines surfacing in port triumphantly returning from battle, the crowds cheering on the docks with the ladies waving white silk handkerchiefs at the saluting men on deck.
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