Äquinoktium photo from flickr
So much changes in so little time
There is nothing quite like being jolted out of bed at four in the morning by a crack of lighting in your backyard. The thunder - which is strange to refer to as such because it happens simultaneously - is both piercing and blunt at the same time. So much energy happens so quickly, that it's only afterwards that you can begin to put it into words. In that single sizzling moment, most all that comes out of one's mouth is a "yelp!"
Given a sturdy roof to sleep under and a quick scan of the local weather forecast - maybe rushing around the house to close every window - it's back to bed until the sun comes up. And that's when you get to really settle in. Going back to bed for a few hours rest while listening to the gusting thunderstorm outside dump gallons worth of raindrops on the shingles above - few things are as cozy as this audible broadcast.
When I was a little kid we used to go outside on the front porch with a blanket. If it wasn't too late yet, my parents would let my sister and I sit on the bench swing hanging from the ceiling out there. We would wrap ourselves up in the blanket, pull our feet up inside it and watch the heavy rains come in. On the lookout for lightning, once we spotted it we'd count out on our fingers how long it took for the thunder to roll.
Of course our metrics were a little messed up at that age. I think we went back and forth between the number of fingers we counted were how many miles away the lightning struck, how fast the storm was traveling in miles per minute, or how much rain/how powerful the storm was with one being the highest. Oh the simple days…