Wednesday, July 8, 2009


You can't keep a thunderstorm. You can't make one come along if it doesn't want to, and you can't make it go away if it won't leave. You can't shush it, or make it roar. You can't really even understand it unless you're in it. You can't do anything with a thunderstorm except hide from it or live along with it.

I was angry for multiple reasons - it's late, some people piss me off, stupid little things ruin my night, I'm hungry - lots of things. My room was filled with muttered cussing and stale, ranting air from hours of trying to do work and prevent it from ever happening again, so I went outside, right after the sky made it's huge, tree-splitting sound right above my house. That sound is thrilling and terrifying all at once.

Only a few things in this world help us realize exactly how small we are in the grand scheme of things - the ocean is one of them, and a hefty, end-of-the-world thunderstorm is another. I stood at the door, the wet, wild air strained through the screen at my nose, and the silent flashes of light lancing around the clouds was a little frightening. One flare of light that wanted to hold my hand and kiss my hair would shock the life from my teeny little heart in an instant. I went outside anyway, because that rain-sound is so soothing. The hiss and gentle plink and drip that comes with rain and the volume that comes with flash-flood amounts of it is so unique and wonderful that I couldn't resist, now that I was there.

The sky flickered at me, lighting up the world around me, as if it were taking pictures so it would remember where it had been, to see the shivering girl in boxers and an oversized tee-shirt looking up at it and say "Huh - what's she doing out here?"

The rain was big - giant drops still cold from the inverted ocean miles above me. I was drenched in seconds. I couldn't stay. So I went back inside, refreshed, pretty cold, and very humbled.

I love thunderstorms. I wish there was one every night.

Goodnight, world. The morning promises something new.

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