Storms part one: Predisposed to lure you

Storms are like good books. They're intoxicating. They're like sweet nectar and cool water to my blood. I feel an added energy pumping along side the red cells and plasma in my veins. It's real, and it's drug like. I can feel my thoughts intensifying and clearifying. I kick off my socks and and crouch, like a cat, in the shadows just inside my window. The wind carries the energy. I can tell, because every time I inhale the humid gusts that blow through my screen I can taste it. I can feel it as it enters my lungs and then my blood. It's the gypsy, pre-storm ghost breezes that tantalize me like this the most. Their overwhelming scentless scents. Their tasteless flavors. Like the dancers, with their long, colorful ribbons flowing, that precede the parades of lords and conquerors. And in their silent rythms singing are the dicordant bird songs, like the lyres and nomadic pipe songs. It's the very breath of lightning in your lungs.