There's a storm coming. I can hear the thunder booming in the distance, like a bowling alley in heaven. Lightening flashes in streaks down to earth, warning us to take cover, to keep dry and to keep safe.
When I was a kid, summer thunderstorms at the cottage were just as much a welcome event as a sunny day of swimming and boating (just not too many in a row, of course). Kimberly and I would choose one of our bedrooms to spend the duration of the storm in and break out the UNO cards. We would play UNO for as long as the storm lasted, or else we'd just lay on our beds and listen to the booms and claps and feel them shake the cottage from the ground up. Sometimes we'd watch the storm from underneath the cottage. Our cottage does not have a basement, and you can walk right underneath , where we store fire wood, the canoe, and a ton of other cottage stuff. We'd get lawn chairs and sit right in the middle, where you can see out to the lake right in front and to the left down the inlet, all the way to the islands and beyond. We'd play UNO under there too, or else pretend we were castaways lost on a deserted island with nothing but the clothes on our backs (but with a chef, because Mom would send snacks down at our request). Other times, the family would watch old movies to let the time and the storm pass. It would seem thunderstorms have been the catalyst for some of my best memories.
As an adult, I continue to love thunderstorms. It is true that I have significant anxiety over violent weather. If wind is involved, I'm over the top with panic and worry. But a thunderstorm, on it's own... just rain, and thunder and lightening... doesn't evoke the same angst in me. I like the way they force you to slow down. I like how the lightening can illuminate a dark sky with beautiful dancing streaks of yellow and white. I love the sound of each individual drop of rain on my roof or window sill. I love the thunder booms and how they make me feel so small and themselves so much bigger and powerful than anything on earth. As loud and big as they can be, I love how they ultimately provide such a peaceful and reverent experience for those who stop to take it in.
I have a reflections cd called "Raindrop Dreams". It's a solitudes cd of relaxing and pretty compositions with the sounds of rain and thunderstorms in the background. I listen to it at night sometimes, or else when I'm feeling like my life is getting too chaotic. The sound of the rain is euphoric in a way... its like a warm blanket of comfort when life gets to be too much to handle. And I'm not sure if to me that is because of the warm and wonderful memories I have associated with thunderstorms, or if it's that way for everyone. But I like it.
I must qualify my words here with an appreciation for how lucky I am to live where I do and not have had to experience any of what has recently occurred in the U.S. with tornado damage, hurricanes, or basically any other sort of damaging weather pattern. I am and will always be very grateful for the good fortune I have had in geographic location, and my heart and thoughts go out to the thousands affected by such destructive weather patterns around the world.
In that way, is it selfish for me to love these thunderstorms as I have described here? Is it morally right for me to like something that has been known to bring others so much pain and loss?
In the time it has taken me to compose this piece, the storm has come, made it's mark, and passed. Now it is quiet and the air is still. A few dripping leaves let drops of water fall from their tips to the ground, each one making a plop and a mark on the sidewalk below, while others find a goove on a blade of grass and puddle a bit longer. The air smells fresher, the streets glisten, and the world is returning to normal. Maybe that's the thing about thunderstorms that all people can agree on. When they are over, there is nothing compared to the beauty of a quiet and still earth. There's always a rainbow, a promise. And if you can't necessarily see it, you can certainly feel it.
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