I worked from home yesterday by the grace of my boss who took mercy on me in the wake of about three hours of work getting destroyed Monday night when a power burp to the building browned out my computer and rather than run crying from my office I manned up and stayed until after midnight redoing it all.

As such I had a front row seat to the storm that swept through Tuesday, the intensity of the rain along with some thunder and lightning proving to be a distraction from my duties:

During one such brief excursion, I found a poor butterfly plastered to the porch floor, being veritably pummeled by droplets that seemed to nail it with a precision accuracy. So of course I scooped it up as delicately as possible and brought it in to dry off.

bfly

Tough little fella that it is, I’m guessing it took one to many water bombs to the noggin. Its probiscus is stuck in the out position and its head is also craned over at an awkward angle. Susan came home and recognized that rather than be allowed to suffer such a grounded and contained indignity, the insect could serve a greater good as a snack for one of our three treefrogs. But I petulantly balked at that option staving off its execution, especially after it made valiant if attempts to consume some of the drops of sugar water I provided it.

This morning, it’s still alive and standing, but I’m thinking it selfish of me to prolong its misery and instead do the right thing in surrendering it to the amphibians. We’ll see.

Also this a.m. while taking the trash cans to the street I found that, however fleeting a visit it was, old Jack Frost stopped by during the cold night, leaving his calling card on the underside of our porch table… that, or he’s got one helluva coke habit:

frost

And lastly, it wouldn’t be STROMWARTCH!!1!!1 without the obligatory snap of the precipitation accumulated throughout the morning and afternoon — somewhere around an inch — in the official receptacle, brought to you by Mason and its extensive line of jars:

rain