I saw the waxing crescent through the window and imagined a strong breeze coursing through the trees. A bright but cool day; clothes flapping on lines strained by the rushing air’s wake while free range chicken roamed the grass. Eventually, the air would try to catch its breath and the birds would chirp.
The chirp turned into a rumble and the world outside the reverie was dark. The moon was gone; behind low dark clouds that wrung the sky dry for the rest of the morning. In the afternoon, the clouds shrunken and white let through warm sun and a light breeze. The puddles basked in the sun.