He knew what was happening. He smiled and stretched, suddenly, gloriously, achingly tired. He made himself clean each brush carefully before he went out into the yard. To the west was a wall of bruise-colored sky that towered above the mountains until its top wall was edged with light. Subtle breezes were now sucking towards it, to the west. “Uh-oh,” he said aloud. Thunder rumbled, and he could see ropes of backlit rain hanging from the advancing monster, with the texture of watercolor on wet paper. In places the whole scene blurred with white mist. He ran back into the house and through its four little odd-shaped rooms slamming windows. Paper blew around, popping off pushpins on the walls, scooting across the floor.
Lightning flashed, and the first near burst of thunder shook the house.
