For over an hour at bedtime last night, the sky flickered with distant lightning like an "Eat at Joe's" sign along a lonely highway. There was no thunder, but Don's snoring provided the sound track. Lightning bugs, like their namesake, put on a show of their own, flashing on and off from just above the grass, to high over the tree tops, like bright stars against the flickering sky. That was just a warmup for the main show, which jolted us awake at 2 AM with loud claps of thunder, bright lightning and toad choking rain. Barley stole over and laid down beside the bed. It was all over in less than half an hour, and we drifted back to sleep, dreaming of Joe's barbeque.
