The storm lurched in like a prize fighter, throwing right jabs and left uppercuts as spruce trees bobbed and ducked. Then, punch-drunk and exhausted, it fell to the canvas where it was covered with two inches of fresh snow.
(Now, what in blazes am I going to do with that? Sometimes I just have to get some words out, and then I'm stuck with them. Someday, maybe, I'll find an appropriate venue for those words. In the meantime, I'm freeing them to gambol about in cyberspace. Anyway, that's what it was like here a couple nights ago--lots of brawn and bluster all night long, but all played out in the morning.
Maybe I can save it for the next Bulwer-Lytton contest, the annual bad writing contest. You know: "“It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents—except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness.”)
When I saw the title of your blog, I thought perhaps you'd started celebrating Easter early and got into some spiked punch.
ReplyDeleteI expected something like this: It was a dark and stormy night when Jean had one too many mugs of rum punch. Her muse had to haul her to bed where she left her and hustled to the computer. She proceeded to post a detailed story of what Jean did before she passed out. It was shocking!
HAPPY EASTER, my friend.
Sounds to me like the opening line of a James Lee Burke novel (although, of course, he would never have snow in his Louisiana-based stories). I love James Lee Burke's books, and I really like that paragraph. Hang onto it.
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