It began, like any other day: with sunrise, and the promise of work, of drudgery, of eventual respite to the west: where the sun sets. It began, like any other day, in a truck-yard. There was a promise of heat. There was a promise of sunlight. The sunlight (at 6am) peeked new and colorful over the eastern horizon. The heat had not yet arrived. It was to be a short day, an easy day; there was precious little to do. Like the following morning’s sunrise, a holiday loomed on the horizon. Children were already in possession of fireworks, illegal in the city, but purchased—easily enough—from outside of State Borders. It was a short day, with wind in the middle. There were no storms in the forecast, and yet the noon-day sun smothered in a blanket of restive haze. The haze thickened, darkened, and lost its silvery tinge. Something moved in the south: a disturbance like a disk, bulging in the middle. From the looks of it, an unpromised storm bled into the humid, afternoon sky. The air cooled. The air thickened as pressure differentials promised the downward jab of immense and swirling funnels. Lightening flashed. But there was no thunder. The air—for long, long moments—stunk of ozone and moisture, of leaves, and of diesel fuel. Wind boasted of itself in sighs and in whispers. It did not rain. Perhaps there were storms. Elsewhere. Their clouds were born over the city, but they moved—quickly—to the north, and to the east. The lake, I suspect, cooled itself in the torrents of a shower. I cannot know this for sure. The lake is silent on the topic, but I know—with all certainty—that strange, ominous clouds were born south and west of the lake, and they moved like an enormous disk (swollen at its middle) in silence and then in the whisper of wind. * * * I took this picture yesterday, from inside one of the trucks in my father’s ramshackle fleet. I’ve seen heavy weather before: I’m accustomed to the promise of tornadoes. There were no tornadoes in the immediate vicinity of Chicago, but the clouds (captured here) were—most certainly—a promise of something heavy, something ominous, and something the likes of which might just have carried Dorothy to Oz. As far as I know. Nothing happened. I must say that I'm rather pleased with this image; I've always been interested in posting a truly atmospheric image in the Renderosity genre of Atmosphere and Mood and well...what is more atmospheric than Earth's actual atmosphere, deciding to entertain itself with a bit of...well...drama? * * * As always, thank you for viewing, reading, and commenting, and for those who celebrate American Independence, I hope you’re on the verge of a great holiday, and for those who live beyond the boundaries of such a holiday, I hope you’re already in the midst of a great weekend.