The gravel scraped on my shoes as I climbed the steps up to the lookout at the top of Mt Bonnell. It was close to sunset and on any other day the small park would have been crowded with picture takers, couples, and outdoors enthusiasts. But as it was about to start raining, the park had pretty much cleared out. When I reached the top I took the trail to the left that would lead me to where I could look out over the lake and not be hemmed in by short stone walls and a wooden pavillon.
As I sat there, I stared out over the corridor of the Colorado river we natives like to call Lake Austin and watched the storm roll in. In the thin sunset light, the sky seemed to turn an odd orange green color that I have only ever seen watching Texas thunderstorms. The air had a static-y ozone feel to it and I could almost taste the rain. Purple clouds roiled in, casting night-like shadows over everything in their path. Lightening shot in all directions within the clouds like it couldn’t figure out which way the earth lay. Occassionally one would get it right and shoot out towards the ground, thunder following immediately as if cheering at its success.
Eventually the clouds swelled and seemed to hover at the tipping point until all at once they exploded with a torrent of water. The fierce rain blinded me to the city beyond and to the lake in front of me. I let it pelt my skin and soak through my clothes. The power, the sheer magnitude of what was barraging me, overtook my senses. Compared to this natural phenomenon I was tiny, a mere fly in relation to the cosmos. The chaoses and pains of my life were overpowered and lost their sharp edges.
The storm lasted only a few minutes. That’s how it is here. Fierce, intense power but over and gone before you can snap your fingers. As the rain eased off and the full dark of night fell, all the things I had been holding back rushed into me and I doubled over in pain.
Finally, I took out my phone and did what I had been trying to build up the courage for all evening. I dialed his number.