The smell. The sound. The feel. Moisture laden air against skin. Static electric atmosphere.

Gazing out a partially open train window. Eyes open to a flash of lightning. Skin raising in goose-bumps. Sensuality. Anticipation of what’s to come.

'Are you cold?'

A friendly voice, breaking from pre-existent conversation.

'I'm fine'

Thunder sounds loudly. Heavy rain. Wild winds. Reach out and open the window. Seconds earlier it was pushed closed.
Eyes closed. Absorbing the moment with heightened senses. Sensuous sounds fill the soul. Shiver. Hands growing clammy. Face growing warm.

'Do you feel ok?'

Friendly comment. Broken from gossiping voices. Distant voices. A hand brushes against open palm. Eyes open.

'I'm fine.'

Rain eases. Taunting. Teasing. Gazing in a daze of longing. As clouds retreat.

Moments pass. Winds gain strength. Lightning rods shine through the sky. Thunder bellows.

Skin tingles. Alive with sensual energy.

'Our stop.'

Drawn back to reality. Friends crowding around.

Step off the train. Cheeks rosy.

Rainbow glimmers through parting clouds.

You can't possibly tell me I'm the only one who can see the erotic nature of storms.

Interea magno misceri murmure caelum
incipit, insequitur commixta grandine nimbus,
et Tyrii comites passim et Troiana iuuentus
Dardaniusque nepos Veneris diuersa per agros
tecta metu petiere; ruunt de montibus amnes.
speluncam Dido dux et Troianus eandem
deueniunt. prima et Tellus et pronuba Iuno
dant signum; fulsere ignes et conscius aether
conubiis summoque ulularunt uertice Nymphae.
ille dies primus leti primusque malorum
causa fuit; neque enim specie famaue mouetur
nec iam furtiuum Dido meditatur amorem:
coniugium uocat, hoc praetexit nomine culpam.

Meanwhile much murmur mixed the sky above;
Now followed hail and mixèd raincloud too;
From ev’ry side the Persian nobles, youth
Of Troy, and Venus’ grandson strewn through fields
Seek shelter in their fear; still torrents rush.
They came to the same cave; Dido and chief
From Troy. Primeval Earth, Matron Juno
They give the sign; the lightning flares and sky
Is witness to their love; on peaks, nymphs shriek.
That day was cause of death, of all her ills;
No longer did she care for face or fame
No more she nursed the hope of secret love:
She named it ‘marriage’, thus she hid her guilt.

-Virgil, Aeneid IV, ll. 160-172 (translation by self)


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