Our Lady of Perpetual Astonishment

Lightning always leads the way. Like when you know which club you’re going to and you spy the distant strobes going wild. You stumble down the street arm in arm with your equally sure-footed friends, aflutter with anticipation. Around a corner the beat lands, first in your body, then your ears. Thunder saunters in like this, sneakily powerful. Now you’re arrived. When the rain comes down it is a dance floor full of strangers sweating, grinning. The air grows torrential, and you are lost to the rhythm around you. Your friends are nearby but you can’t hear them unless they yell in your ear. The pattering grows pelting. The sky drops the beat.