Under Thunder

It's no secret that I love thunderstorms. I love the smell in the air, the look of the darkening sky, the rain, and the wind. And of course, the thunder. There is something in me that comes alive during a thunderstorm. I love to look out the window and see the off-color air and the tree branches bend and sway, as if they are terrified at the coming chaos.

We really don't have good thunderstorms in Michigan very often. It wasn't until I moved out of the Midwest that I discovered really good ones - the kind they get out west. I guess the flat plains really lets them build up and if you are close enough to the west coast to get the monsoon effects, the fun is amplified. I have seen powerful, beautiful storms in Arizona, Colorado, New Mexico, Texas, California, and Oklahoma. The kind that you remember. Scary, and black. The kind that would make Jakers run for cover under the couch, shivering.

I have a recording of a thunderstorm on CD that I like to listen to when nature fails me. It was recorded at Big Sur, CA, and what a monster it was. I wish I could see that kind more often.

I like to picture our distant ancestors, huddled in a cave, watching out as the world tears itself to pieces, wondering what has befallen them and if it will ever end. It is not such a stretch to imagine them believing that they have angered something very powerful. God is unhappy with us. The Stone giants are playing catch. Monsters are coming. I think we fear these storms for obvious reasons, but we also respect them because they have the ability to scare us. And I can't wait to be scared again.