A thunderstorm moves towards us in the early pre-dawn this morning. It is growling and flashing up from the south. A somewhat unusual trajectory for a storm to hit the little valley of Sonoma. Raquel and I stood outside on the second floor balcony only in our underwear and watched the lightning and counted the seconds until the rolling thunder arrived. We estimated the storm was 12-15 miles away. I could not stop touching and looking at her, so naked and vulnerable and so near the coming tempest. The sound and the beauty of her naked breasts were quite erotic in the darkened skies, with the sun coming up and just beginning to break through with swirling bands of pink that stretched from one side of the sky across to the other.
The boy is still sleeping, no doubt very tired after a weekend camping with the dads and his buddy.
Well, camping at a place that has a pool - the local KOA. We were running a maiden voyage on a newly purchased, but well used camper. A purchase made by my friend. I greatly prefer tent camping in a state or national park, but not everybody needs to embrace my way of thinking and feeling. The boys loved it. We went with another father and son - an early childhood friend of Rhys.
The weekend was tiring, though a few good memories added to the pile for the kids. It was above 100 degrees both days. The thunderstorm started around 3am Sunday morning. I awoke to the sound of the rain falling all around us. I zippered up the camper on the side where the falling rain would be most felt and then watched and listened to the rain falling in the dark until I drifted back off to sleep, little Rhys snoring beside me, dreaming the dreams of a child, entirely bereft of the moody posturing on display above.
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