Thunder Road

I woke this morning to birds singing and the sun leaning through my window intrusively but invited. Now the rain sloshes from the sky and not an inch of this old road is dry. The shaking foundation with every beat of thunder is in harmony with the spastic rhythm in my chest. I'm breathing heavy. The lamp on the wall flickers and I press save, just the be sure. She's lounging on the ground, perhaps in discomfort, but she looks relaxed despite the angry storm outdoors. I haven't heard a crash in about five minutes and I can hear the drips from the eves start to distinguish themselves from the rain. She rubs her eyes, needing a jolt of lightening to remind her it's not bedtime, but the pitter patter only sings her to sleep. Her brows furrow as her eyes droop slowly, refusing the defeat, while her mouth stretches wide with the despair of sleepless evenings.