The sky was a low slung canopy of ash and slate. Yet off in the not too distant western sky, the sun beamed a fistful of rays toward earth, no doubt onto a cold gray ocean.
Overhead the sky filled with black birds. Hundreds, their wings spread taut, sitting gently upon the zephyr. They had appeared suddenly, hovering several seconds before banking off into the western sky.Less than a half mile up the highway, just past the slow curve east, another flight of black wing birds clambered toward the ashen canopy. It was again impossible to determine their origin. Had they been on the ground, digging into the damp earth? Behind the hill? Without faltering, they too headed west. The car drew my eyes east, where lightning danced atop the distant hills.
The road through the far valley darkened with greater intensity, and the first few drops of water fell on the windshield. They grew larger, more voluminous, and as I headed up the grade, I was engulfed in sheets of water. I had just moments before been one of dozens climbing the hill. Now, I could scarcely see past the hood of the car. Hazy taillights and the faint outline of other wheeled tins hovered in front of me, as if in a dream.
I had slowed to a crawl, wondering if pulling off until the downpour had passed was remotely viable. It was not. The chances of moving more than a few inches in any direction other than forward suggested the certain anguish of scraping metal, in a place where getting out of the car held the promise of injury if not worse.
