Jan 14
Storms make oaks take deeper root.
George Herbert (1593 - 1633)
Lightning lit the sky and illuminated the car and its passengers for a brief moment in time, before darkness swallowed everything whole again. The air was steeped in ozone which poured into every crevice and seemed to heighten the humidity. Only the thunder and the dull smack of heavy raindrops as they hit every available surface broke the silent night.
Timothy McGee was not afraid of storms. On the contrary, he found them soothing. There was something about the way they cleared the air after a few days of unbearable tension, like a fresh start or the beginning of a hot summer's day. The forks of electricity cutting through the night sky were works of art to be admired, while the rumble of drums was somehow incredibly pure and earthy.
"Does Gibbs really think our suspect is going to wander outside in this weather?" his co-worker, partner in observing the beautiful storm in all its destructive glory, whispered as though attempting to prevent nature's power from recognizing them.
"Not unless he wants to drown," Tim replied, his tone as hushed as hers to maintain the spell cast over the night. "At least we have a show to watch."
The wind howled around the car, shaking it as an infant would a toy, and the occupants huddled deeper into their warm jackets, each simultaneously dreaming that they could turn the heating on and yet neither willing to break the atmosphere. They relaxed in their seats instead, gazing up at the heavens and wishing the storm would never end.