The sky churns into a bloody, angry mustard. The sky seethes with rain and light. A rare occurrence around the Puget Sound. This strand is a nod to the lovely vehemence playing across summer skies elsewhere. The soft blue-gray tessellations become domes and towers of black. Thunderclaps rattle doors on their hinges. Catharsis. And the smell once the drama has played out: wet clean dirt, a thick loamy musk. Deep puddles and purified hearts. In the shop now.