in a teacup

i have this little story, aching to be shared: a story of long ago, of strangers in the night, of thunder, of lightning. and i have not a single image to accompany it. usually, usually, there's a picture in my collection that pleases me, and inspires me, and i compose a story that tallies. in this case, i cross my fingers constantly for a photogenic storm, a tempest of stature, so that i can couple the words and the illustration.
THIS isn't it. it's too clearly amsterdam. but i am patient.
the tale, as tiny as it is, will be told one day.