Deluge

Rain moved in over downtown even as the sun was rising in the still-clear eastern sky. Shafts of light shot down Broadway, gilding the rear ends of inbound cars and lighting up the east faces of buildings and trees with improbable gold. A brilliant rainbow shot up against the face of the incoming shower; my bus driver found me craning up into the sky instead of watching for the bus like a dutiful commuter. (He smiled and said "It's great, isn't it?")

By the time I got down to my building, the rain was turning heavy and the rainbow was fading. Now it's darker than it was half an hour ago, and the sound of rain on the atrium roof washes under our work-related conversations. Given the state of next year's budget, deluge seems an appropriate metaphor. But still, there was a rainbow straddling Broadway this morning.

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