flying into thunder

Taking off from Boston after 100-degree heat, under the brow of a thunderstorm at sunset. Menacing, dangerous, foreboding – billowing black clouds and an angry orange sun burn as we fly out of Boston the wrong way, away from home, but also away from the storm, out over an ocean still calm, still reassuring, still blue.

Later, over Lake Michigan, an enormous berg of a storm, higher than Everest, 300 miles wide. Silent flashes of unspeakable violence deep inside, again and again. Glaciers rumble down, eruptions blow out the sides. A great cavern opens up to the interior, lit with sunset gold. I look for another vein of gold, and find it. Over the summit a thin halo of clouds, and peace.

Where the cataclysm has passed the sky is wiped clean, leaving only faint vapor traces across blue-black shadows of nothingness.