Witch's Weather

 On a muggy, soupy early July day the bright sky betrayed all predispositions and burst a brick rattling thunder boom. After it simmered away back beyond the horizon the day continued to shine and wisp as there wasn't a storm somewhere. 

This is the kind of weather my aunt called "witch's weather." When it rains while it is sunny that means a witch got married. Everything happening in the beautifully inverse. This storm would strike dry earth and flowers and baby cap mushrooms would pop up from the strike. Instead of primal obsidian glass, a tiny glade. 

I poke my head out the balcony to see if I spot the storm somewhere. This takes some effort as I need to dislodge the dusty box fan from the window frame. Nothing poetic about that especially the petrified starling poop on the window sill. I bat that with the tip of pen into the lost alley between the buildings. Once settled, I look for the deepening gradient of white to drowned blue to dusty grey in the clouds but nothing. Instead the only clouds are towering cotton blobs over the shivering trees. Over the apartment building is nothing but blue. The sky then follows up with a low grumble over the invisible horizon before it all just stops and shifts back to the muggy hurt of summer. 

It would be nice to rain. Wash away the starling shit and also drain the garbage from the alleyway. It would leave nothing but the pioneer plants settling there. Including the spindly ailanthus tree that reminds me of tree pollen and the time a coworker texted me a picture of her thigh after an allergy test. "This is why I am out. I am allergic to everything! Dust mites, tree, grass. Its crazy." I felt awkward and flattered. Witch's weather.