but to [rejoice] in splendour

Part I: It seemed like a plausible idea, to cross the Fox River before the storm came South. The clouds, heavy, rolling from the horizon, dense and forbidding. Sitting in the passenger seat, I unconsciously felt the seat belt confine me, a unusual thought I quickly dismissed. Voices coming from the muffled radio gave the weather report, but the report didn't need to confirm what I knew was coming our way; my boss uttered, “We'll cross the river before the storm hits,” as he drove the SUV-like vehicle. I objected with disdain, but was overruled by my boss, which was strange, as I would stick to the ground at my observance or jump out the rolling vehicle when no compromise was to be reached. Instead, I focus on the taillights in front of me, a driver in an another SUV, which believes he could make it before the storm unleashed its being. SUV drivers must all believe they are above mother nature, as the worse the weather becomes, the greater the risk is taken; they prowl on d...

This is part of a story I'm working on; its in response to a tag . I remember those two taillights burning brightly through the dream-like fog until the windshield shatters from the force of the water; the mighty river smashes into anything along its way. I'll have the rest up soon.