Spring's Arrived

This, I say, is Spring's arrival. Early, I am awaken by the first morning storm, rain falling, thunder of the season. Lightning flashes almost constantly to makes up for the hidden sun. Six thirty ante meridian.
The brick outside my window, on the house next door, flickers with the tremors of lightning, flash-bulb lectricity sprawling through clouds. The rain hisses on the pine leaves outside the windows behind me. Larger bulbs patter onto window sills and into small puddles collecting beneath the eaves. Traffic passes outside in a wisp of mist from the wet road. The first sirens of the morning rush off through the barrage of rain, over slick pavement, to whatever trouble there is; cars probably wrecked from the sudden wash of water. The streets must be oily after so many days of dry and dust.