Just short of a cloudburst

It's thundering, as I write this. The weather is at just my favorite, when a cold front moves through and a storm brews in the near distance. The air is charged with energy, and it energizes me. I feel it tingling along my skin, prickling along my scalp, and my creativity surges. Words and images ricochet in my mind and I have to scramble to capture them. I feel content, yet restless, like a tiger in a cage. I'm grateful I'm alone so I can release some of the energy in my writing. 

 I just took this photo. I liked the look of the white clouds against the bluing clouds behind them, and wanted to share it with you. The crows were cawing in a mad caw-caphony as the thunder rumbled through, and they are now suddenly silent. I think the storm will pass us over, though it's possible another will mosey along and drench us in a little while. My aching limbs cry of rain and drama, and through the discomfort I welcome it. I love this weather.