Since I was a little girl, I have had a certain fascination with storms. I think they are absolutely beautiful. I remember looking out the sliding glass door in our kitchen and watching the wind blow the leaves. And by looking at them, I knew a storm was coming in. It would be a hot summer day and we would be sitting on our patio swinging and talking and just letting the world go on by. Then, off in the distance I would hear the thunder roll and I knew a storm was in the making. I would leave and go the the side of the house and sit on the hot asphalt and face North-West. There was nothing there but our yard and the field, about a 100 yards on was a holler. I would sit there and I could feel the asphalt warming my legs and hands; it felt good. The sky overhead would be just as blue as any hot Summer day. But, in the North-West, beyond the holler, and just above the trees, I would see big thunderheads. I had learned in school that those were properly called cumulonimbus clouds. I didn’t care what they were properly called. All I cared about was what was behind them. I would sit there in silence taking in all the sounds around me: my dad’s big-bellied laugh as he made homemade banana ice cream, my mom’s southern euphemisms, the sound of my uncle’s chaw hitting the spittoon that was sitting on the patio next to his can of RC Cola, my older brother getting his last few cannon balls in before the storm hits, the rhythmic thwarps of my oldest brother’s arrow hitting his Styrofoam practice target, and the faded noise of the highway that ran by my house. In an odd way, it was all so soothing. I knew we had a good hour to hour-and-a-half before the storm actually hit. And I was going to be there every minute of it. As the thunderheads inched their way east and overhead they became flat, and the closer they got to me, the darker they became. And, in my, unscientific, inexperienced, opinion the darker the better. The clouds overhead were grey and the farther West you look the darker they got. The clouds were all coming together making one large system. You couldn’t tell one cloud from the next. They really didn’t have any form. Sitting there, a soft breeze began to blow and the sun was completely blocked out. Although it was only 5 p.m. it looked as if it were 8. As the breeze kept blowing, I felt the coolness and knew the rain wasn’t far away. As I was thinking about the rain a low rumble of thunder sounded in the distance. About 2 minutes later lightening lit up the clouds over the treetops. As the minutes passed, I felt the temperature drop. It went from being about 88 to being about 64 in a matter of about fifteen minutes. That told me it was going to be a good one. Sitting there soaking in the last few moments of dryness, I felt a change in mood. My brother’s cannonballs had stopped, traffic had slowed, and my dad’s laughter had ceased. The thwarps of the arrow hitting the target were the only constant. It sounded like a timer just waiting to go off. I began counting the time between the thwarps in my head. One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand so on and so forth. As I was counting, I heard something in the distance. It sounded like a big breeze blowing. But, I knew better. It was rain. In less than 10 seconds, the rain began pelting my skin. I laid on my back and let the asphalt warm me as the rain hit all over my body. Then a large roar of thunder sounded, the kind you feel in your rib cage. I heard my mom yell to my brother “get out of the pool” my other brother put his target in the shed and took his bow and arrows in the house. My uncle grabbed in spittoon and RC Cola, my dad grabbed the ice cream, and my mom grabbed the patio chairs’ cushions. They all hurried inside. I laid there, smiling to myself, as the rain continuously pelted my skin and soaked me. About that time my mom called out the back door for me to come inside. My smile faded and my heart sank. I knew that it was over. All the excitement was done and it was just constant rain, thunder, and lightening from here on until the morning. But, the good thing was, storms happen quiet frequently in the Summer, unless we’re in a drought, and something even better, each storm is different. So, I got up, ran barefooted to the back door, and began smiling once again because I knew it was only the end of May, and I had two more months full of opportunities to watch plenty more storms come rolling in.
Just as I think physical storms are beautiful, why can’t I think the storms I go through in my life are equally as beautiful? Each storm I face gives me a chance to grow and mature just as physical storms make plants grow and mature. Each storm brings a new opportunity for me to become more of me, if that makes sense. It allows me to get where I need to be. Maybe I’m reading too much into it, but that thought hit me tonight as I was reading. So, anyhow, I hope you all are snuggled up safely and I hope you have a great day at school/work tomorrow! Happy reading! 😀