roadtrip rains

rainstorms in florida are a magical sight. coming down i-75, i ran into about four of them, all the same. first, the horizon appears hazy. is it my sunglasses? is it smoke? no, it’s cloud cover. then the grey blocks of amorphous stuff falling from the heavens, which direction is it headed? will i hit it or miss it? and then it’s dead ahead. flocks of white birds dart out of the way, just before the drops plunk into the windscreen; one, two, then a thousand all at once. countless aqueous suicide bombers grind the north-south machine of a great highway to a slow crawl, each car blinking mercifully, guiding its followers. i strain over the steering wheel, eyes glued to the car in front of me, checking the yellow line to my left and the perforated white on my right, rounding out with a glance behind me to make sure i have no assailants from behind. one, two miles of blind driving, the fear of will i hit a flood? what if a wave comes over the bridge? this blind leading the blind is the stuff of which Darwin awards are made, will i be one of them? stop, damn you! this is enough! stop raining! and then, about ten minutes later than i’d like, it subsides, i drive through, the speed picks up, the wipers are turned off, and a collective breath of relief is blown southbound, for about another 30 miles.