Tempesta estiva (Summer Storm)

I sit alone in a crowd, surrounded by sound

Enveloped by chatter, punctuated by laughter

The piercing ring of ceramic cups on marble tabletops

My eyes are suddenly drawn from the proximate to the infinite

In a slice of sky before me, between the awning and the parasol

Something momentous is growing

A silent mountain

Golden glowing in the setting sunlight

As I sit in quiet awe

Flashes of bright, white, light emanate from within

Like the laughter of the crowd

Only silent, distant

Mere hinting at the tempest building within

With each passing moment the mountain grows

Taller, wider, darker

Ominous, visible mass

Fed only by water, heat, pressure

Hot, impatient energy.

I no longer hear the sounds from those around me, I notice

My entire focus fixed

Skywards

Rapt anticipation

My body, tense

Awaiting the inevitable

Collapse

Beautiful failure

Then it comes

The first, brave tentative drops hit the hot, stone slabs

The tension breaks

The storm begins.