Day at the beach.

The sun, blinding,
gone.
The grey rumblings, threat of summer downpour, are mostly behind, stayed by oceanic breezes. The threat is reiterated; Zeus and Thor matching their skills, shrouded in puffs and billows. The pitter-patter begins, birds croaking to one another, the wet smell permeating the air (watery firmament). Small, pattering fairy stomps on the blanket around me, the back of my ear, my sheet of paper. A flash to the right, distant lightning keeping its place on the other side of the Waterway.
My words are wet, my back is wet--time to cover up the notebook.