March Morning

The alarm jars me awake.

Another Monday morning.

Yet not.

Was that thunder?

This early in the day,

                       in the year?

Rain drops

   spl

       at

         ter  ing

    onto the windows.

I peek through the blinds, and

prepare for rain.

Pants.

Heels.

Anything to keep me from getting wet.

Step outside.

Déjà vu.

Snow on the ground?

My eyes must be deceiving me.

Small, round pellets.

Hail?

Hail!

On the ground.

Spewed out of the down-spout.

Piled up.

White.

Unexpected.

Water trickling down from the roof is the only sound I still hear.

Calming.

The asphalt is wet.

The rain has passed.

But I drive back into it.

A streak of light darts left to right.

The dark, morning sky flashes

an eerie shade of purple.

Rumbles growl overhead.

The rain drops get bigger

and smack against my windshield.

Silencing like crackling fireworks in the sky.

My favorite.

Even on this March morning,

nothing is routine.