An empty trail in the middle of country
Weaving through hills and trees
The air is muggy and sticky
The sky darkens
Clouds clump together
Dark and brooding

The first drops of rain come
Warm still from the heat
A trickle, then a torrent
Splattering

The rain soaks the solitary walker
Seeping deep into his socks and his boots
The walker takes refuge under a cluster of trees
Waiting
Wishing now that he hadn’t taken this walk

Lightning, a brief flicker from afar
Thunder follows, again and again
An echoing rumble that crescendos
Like an approaching train