The storm brews. A slate grey sky churns the heat.
Wind peppers the air with leaves, twigs, grit. Trees stream and crack. The streets are empty.
Floating above the trees, eyes closed. Blue light pulses, starting in her core and rippling outwards to taste the energies around her.
The blue waves swell in broad bands. Wherever they meet the wind and dust the storm breaks into fractal eddies, uncertain and disoriented.
Back on the freeway heavy drops of rain stripe the tarmac. It hammers sideways pasting mud and grit
against the street signs and warehouses. It blows east, sidestepping a mile of cool blue stillness.
She turns in her sleep.