T is for Thunderstorms

One of the few perks living in the heartland is its thunderstorms.  There's no beach for hours, no mountains to speak of within a two day drive, no border crossing with it's delicious promise of strange-to-my-ears languages and even stranger food.

But come Spring it all makes sense as cold fronts meets warm and sparks fly, as low pressure whirls a dervish.  Sirens blare at all hours of the day and night warning of impending apocalypse.  I am not the kind of person to cower in the basement.  Not that I haven't.  I'm just not that person.  Maybe it's because I grew up in a house struck by lightening.  I prefer to stand at the window and watch, or even better to stand outside and let the updrafts take my hair and twist it effortlessly into designs of its own making.

Lying in bed at night while flashes of lightening illuminate the walls brighter than any camera flash, waiting for the window rattling boom to follow somehow calms me, lulls me to sleep.  The towering clouds, the wind, the hail, and oh.....the glorious rain.  Biblical deluges of rain.  Cool misting rain.  Quick soakers.  Sideways rain.  I love them all.

The thunderstorms here are magical.