A Million Seasons on the Commute Home
Across two counties, the weather ranges from climactic storms to warm sunshine.
The sky outside the window darkens to slate-iron grey and seems to lower, hovering menacingly. Lightning briefly sparkles from the clouds and thunder booms directly overhead. Suddenly, a jagged line streaks towards the wall of the building and there is an explosion, sparks scattering outside the brick. People in the office are startled and hands fly to chests as the thunderclap crescendos simultaneously. The internet stops working and the fire alarm rings. We all look at each other and begin to stand up until the noise ceases.
Rain is whipping against the panes, horizontal and torrential. It becomes a blanket of hail as the maintenance manager walks into the office, inspecting walls and ceilings. We are told to pack up and sent home early as the sky streaks with silver.
As we dash out of the building towards cars, flash floods slap around our ankles and we are buffeted by the downpour. We hear that lightning struck the roof of the building and there is now a crack letting in the water.
The windscreen steams and the wipers can barely maintain a square for vision. Out of nowhere, the rain halts, leaving behind it pools that cover parts of the road. Traffic is backed up and squashed into single file as drivers try to avoid the small ocean at the junction. Slivers of lightning continue to play, tentacles flashing against the grey-mustard sky.
As I hit the dual carriageway, an enormous rainbow arches over towards the left. All of nature seems giant right now, and highly unpredictable. From the apocalyptic storm, there is now a mediocre rain shower, which seems mundane in comparison. As I near home, the sun breaks out and spills over the asphalt in an orange caress.
I get out of the car and feel the warmth on my face.
I have driven for an hour along the A417, yet it feels like I’ve crossed continents.
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