It's six-fifteen in the morning and it still looks like night. We are in the midst of thunderstorms, although I think we're between fronts right now.
I grew up listening to thunderstorms at night, convinced it was my duty to wake up the family if the house got hit by lightning. I love thunderstorms despite a childhood short of sleep; they became my confidante late at night.
Today I wait for the rumbles of thunder as the glowering clouds travel closer, the swishing of the trees, the gouts of rain. I fancy myself a witch of the storm, holding my arms skyward, drenched by an onslaught of rain. In reality, I'm afraid enough of lightning that I would not do something that foolish.
North of us, the roads are still flooded by a freakish mix of melting snow from the Dakotas and hard rain. South and east of us, there's a chance of severe weather, which includes hail, high winds, and tornadoes. Lightning strikes kill people every year.
Thunderstorms command respect. Even as I enjoy them, I keep them at a distance.
Originally posted April 30, 2019
Kommentare