Hurricane Lucille

She came on suddenly, like a bad blind date. She was about as real as a blind date as well; not really a hurricane, considering the locale and all.

There I sat in the Red Cross feeling dejected and disappointed that they didn't want me, couldn't use me, due to my unpredictable iron count. There she loomed on the horizon created by the neighborhood trees and next-door buildings clashing with the tumultuous sky. Her busty cloud formations overtook the space above while her loud voice boomed intermittently around us, threatening.

Without hesitation she came forth upon the earth in the form of millions of suicidal water droplets pounding to the pavement in sheets. Wind interceded with his mighty gust, waltzing through the parking lot outside the Red Cross window with the pieces of Lucille. The lights inside flickered only once, but it was enough to draw attention to the rendez-vous beyond the confines of our protective establishment.

Wind died down and left Lucille to her peace, to continue what she had started. Either that or she drove him away.

When she finished she left her reflection in the once-stormy sky, her mark of beauty over the damp and shaken land.

Could a blind date ever turn out better?