And, not the way you would think.

Today, I was promised thunderstorms!  A deluge was promised to slam New York City.  We got a dousing but certainly not a thunderstorm.  Since I have moved to New York, with the exception of the hurricane – which even then wasn’t a thunderstorm, I have relished the idea of a dramatic thunderstorm.  Sitting cozily in my apartment, I would watch the rain pound the sidewalk as the lightening flashed and the thunder crashed outside my window.  Instead, the city sees rain.  It sees wind.  And, the few occasions when a real gothic storm has hit gotham, I have been stuck in an inner office in some sort of meeting. 

So today, I watched the early morning news which forecasted storms brewing this afternoon.  I put on my farm boots, grabbed my raincoat and umbrella.  I was armed for the worst.  Enthusiastically, I checked throughout the day on the internet for signs of when the storm would hit.  I left the office at 5PM, and it was gloriously raining!  I walked three blocks to the subway, and by block three the rain had tapered off.  Fifteen minutes later, I emerge from the subway, and the only way one could tell it had rained was by the trees which shook a flurry of small raindrops as the breeze rippled through them.

What happened to my rainstorm?  Tonight.  Tonight, I was promised a 80% chance of thunderstorms.  I wanted cats and dogs, instead, I hear crickets chirping.  They celebrate through their winged music the unexpected warmth of an unseasonable October evening while I bemoan the lack of atmospheric distrubance.  Nary a cloudburst.  I long for the roar of thunderclouds overhead.  I hear the roar of distant planes overhead headed to LaGuardia.  In lieu of dramatic flashes of light filling up the night sky, I have the constant fluorescent light of the courtyard.

It’s just another quiet evening in upper Manhattan.

As ever,

K. Quinn