I switched off the music as I drove the lonely expanse of Highway 6, beyond Price. The surging grayness above me loomed threateningly as I flew past the low-lying mesas and the arroyos that were teeming with flood flow—undoubtedly from the storm further up and farther in.
Jags of lighting split the sky like a baseball a window, and the peal of thunder rolled along the desert floor like a jet continually breaking the sound barrier.
As I crossed into the vortextual tempest, rain plastered against my windshield and it was nearly all my feeble wipers could do to cut through it, to keep visibility at a bare minimum. I slowed my speed as the rain slashed even harder at the windows like something from a National Geographic documentary. It felt like being trapped under an ocean that was being dropped from the heavens.
The minutes ticked on. The rain came greater still, with flashes of lightning—and then before I knew it—I broke from the tempest, and a few miles onward, patches of indigo broke through the grayness.
The world was again calm.
The music was restored, and I continued my journey onward.
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