Like lightning, we fly though the streets.

Like lightning, we eat up the darkness in great, heaving bites.

Like lightning, we take on the sandstorm that wants us to fall apart.

The lightning chases us, fast and loud, but we are louder with our roars.

We dodge with ease: potholes, pedestrians, goats and raindrops.

Try, just try, lightning.

The rain comes with a purpose, to force us to yield.

But we won’t yield, not yet. We are laughing, but we are unsafe.

- E. L. Bowers, posted 01/06/09