Although the rain has stopped, the clouds linger. At dusk, some are ragged black strips churning north amid streaks of bright silver. Later, a thinning patch to the south reveals the half moon. The night is very cold, and very quiet. I smell wood smoke drifting from dark chimneys, and hear a few remaining drops of water fall from the pines. For a moment, I think I hear thunder rolling in the mountains, but it turns out to be a jet passing. They are always louder on cold, cloudy nights. Its roar bounces around the sky until it fades southward. I never see its lights.
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Date: 2004-10-20 09:36 pm (UTC)It's[Its] roar bounces around the sky until it fades southward
when will you finish that unusual novel about atmospheric moods ;]
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Date: 2004-10-20 11:03 pm (UTC)Another case of haste making waste.
(At least I got the second instance of "its" right.)