less tired, this might be better written.
The Storm God sent forth his children again this morning, dancing,
jumping and shrieking with fury and glee like rowdy teenagers.
Through the drive in, they beat at the ground, pounded on my car and
breathed fog onto the windows. They covered the eyes of drivers and
tried to tried to pull our wheels out from under us.
When I got to work, though, the storm settled. As I walked from the
car to the office, the Storm God's Daughters planted gentle kisses on
my cheeks and ran their fingers softly through my hair.
(It's weird, sometimes, the little things that make you smile on a
rainy morning when you've left your umbrella at the office)