All day storms moved in and out of Meeker Park. The first sign were clouds folding over Mount Meeker and descending its east face. Soon dark clouds were amassing, swirling around the higher peaks. Then came the wind in the tops of the pine trees, a low roar that almost sounded like a jet engine. When the wind descended, it shook the aspens, all their shiny new leaves, and the newly emerging grasses and flower stalks.
After a few tentative drops, the heavens opened up while I was out walking. The rain was so intense it felt like sharp little pellets, and I looked for cover under trees or the porch of a cabin. Even the usually slow moose, munching on the willows at the bottom of the valley (below), ran for cover from the storm.
And then, just as suddenly, the whole storm swept east and blue sky reappeared, before the next clouds started gathering over the rounded buttes of Cabin Rock. To the north, the sky was so dark it seemed like judgment day must be near, that the skies would be rent open and a verdict would be delivered. Clouds were churning, different shades of gray and purple layered over one another. But no judgment was made, and the storm passed slowly to the east, keeping its secrets.
Around 6, the skies seemed to finally clear, and silence settled onto the valley, while I settled into a good night of reading. But as it got dark, I started to hear thunder and then rain hitting the front porch. Soon, a full-blown rainstorm had appeared, and I listened to the beautiful cacophony: rain bouncing off the metal chairs on the deck, churning in the gutters above me, hitting the ground with satisfying thuds.
Too quickly, it was over, and I watched it move down the valley, saw the yellow lightning illuminating clouds to the east. For the time being, peace returned.