walking in the summer

tomorrow I will retrace the path, at least as far as the east coast, of that storm which did so much to alter my life plan.
I have been unwilling to check the weather because my impression of the heat I will face is unpleasant enough.
I went walking one night, it was so hot and humid that drops of water condensed and fell like rain mixing with the clouds of insects that seemed to be too lethargic to do more than get entangled in my hair, eyelashes, mouth and the skin wherever it was exposed.  Those that would feed on me made only half hearted attempts, but were nonetheless successful on average, despite the deaths of so many of their bretheren.
I had attended the wake of my dead friend, eating the food afterward I thought it was one more meal she had served me, the first being when I was but 10 years old.  How it took me back and I went back further still when asked to speak.
And then the rain increased, and steadily it began to pour and there was lightening, but it was far distant, counting the half miles in seconds from the flash to the rumble.  It was like a baptism of sorts, as if after the meal she cried for the child who was always too good for anyone else and the days she would not spend with her children and grandchildren.
And I continued my walk, drenched to the skin, eyes squinting against the rain, occasionally brushing sheets of it off my head for a moments reprieve.  At least the bugs were washed away.
And then I came to the church where I would often sit and talk to you.  In the lights you could see the rain coming down in sheets, but I stopped for a moment and remembered, and the rain came down like sheets of tears from the sky.