Daylight never arrived this morning. At least not during the morning commute.
In the north the bottoms of dark clouds were illuminated by rapidly pulsing flashes. Somehow my mind refused to acknowledge the possibility of a storm front. Instead I found myself surveying the landscape ahead as though it were a war zone. Plumes of smoke, not clouds, drifted low in the sky. The flashes weren't from lightning but anti-aircraft fire.
The local radio station picked that time to play Pat Benatar's Love is a Battlefield. All I heard was the word battlefield and wondered that I wasn't consumed by a compulsion to turn around.
Instead I watched as smoke gray clouds raced overhead with purpose. Somehow I avoided the worst of the rain, clouds breaking ranks at my approach, but the few heavy raindrops I did encounter sounded like metal fragments banging on the roof and windshield.
It was the perfect Monday for a mental health day, but for some reason I pushed sanity to the background and surged onward.
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