It is nighttime, and through my opened window, I hear some thunder far off in the distance. At the moment it is simply a low rumbling, more felt than heard, but hopefully that rumbling is a signal that a summer thunderstorm will arrive soon. Perhaps I do not fit the norm because I love the storm’s wild energy. Yes, I know the arguments of how dangerous a “tempest” can be, and I have seen the damage first hand, but that has never made me afraid. Even flying above an electrical display holds me mesmerized as the wind buffets the plane I ride in.
The storms that slide in at night are my favorite. Watching or listening from a window is not enough. I turn out the lights and sit in the alcove outside my kitchen which now serves as my theater. For the moment there is no wind. Then I can feel it stirring; it touches my face as it waltzes by.
Several wind chimes hang from the eves of my house; their metal tubes resonate with different tones when any air currents stir them. The beginning breezes stroke the steel or copper tubes and they begin vibrating with a genial song, some low-pitched tones barely heard while higher notes tinkle spritely. As the thunder rumbles slowly louder and louder it seems as if a timpanist is playing accompaniment with the chimes. The storm’s symphony has begun.
First the trees’ tops sway gently, then the currents work their way down the branches until whole limbs are gyrating and nodding, and finally bowing to each other and to the whipping wind. That wind whips my hair also and I love the feel.
As the thunder booms louder, the unseen lightening now shows itself. It is the opening scene of a favored play, and its actress flits in all directions throughout the night sky. Sometimes her electricity sparkles and flashes a bright clear-white against the black clouds while in another moment, she glimmers fainter with a touch of red, blue, or green. Occasionally she flares inside a cloud, illuminating it like a softly glowing lamp.
I can smell the growing heaviness of the moisture-laden air. It is ripe with anticipation. Then clouds break open and rain spills down, splattering on my deck and sending shattered water beads bouncing across the concrete toward my feet. They dampen my toes as I’m barefoot.
Large droplets fling themselves against my house and its windows and doors. A fine mist created by that flinging sprays my face and arms. I can smell the new ozone and nitrogen filling the air. Everything smells clean and renewed; I breath in that aroma deeply.
Out in the yard, an old Tulip Poplar and its companion Oak each bear one large limb which reaches across to the other. Silhouetted against the flashing electricity those limbs resemble two lovers attempting to caress each other—one a face and the other a hand. Their attempts are only possible when a strong wind helps. They nod and strain, but never quite manage for even the Oak’s leafy finger to touch the yearning Poplar. It’s a sad melodrama that I enjoy—maybe there’s some metaphor for life hidden within, but I’ll leave any interpretations to others.
The storm reaches its crescendo and my pulse quickens. The wind chases itself around and around the trees and house; the chimes serenade the rushing wind; the thunder roars its challenge to the crackling lightening; and the rain dances a tarantella. And I? Misty spray coats me from head to toes, cooling my sweat-coated skin. I welcome the relief.
Then almost as quickly as it came, the storm dies down. The rain becomes a drizzle, the lightening calms down into a few scattered flashes, and the thunder grows softer and softer until only a distant rumbling is heard, now marking the end as it marked the beginning.
The humidity and temperature have dropped, thanks to the storm. I remain in my chair for awhile simply enjoying this cooler night air. I’m very relaxed and know I’ll sleep well tonight.
Reluctantly I return to the inside of my house and turn on the lights. This electricity is harsh to the eyes after the electrical fireworks outside. No matter, they will only be on for a short while as I aim for my bedroom and its soft pillows. Just before I turn in, I open my window just in case another rain drops by to lull me with soothing sounds. I look forward to gentle dreams. Good- night.
No comments:
Post a Comment