Thrill of the Storm

It was a night that had me wishing I my house had one of those deep, wrap-around porches.

Overhead, the sky turned progressively more ominous as layers of charcoal gray clouds converged from three different directions. Jagged lines of silver-white lightning jumped from cloud to cloud, first in the back of the house, then moving to the front. Soon blinding lances of lightning were striking the ground on all sides and thunder rolled continuously. 

 Oh, to have had a porch to provide shelter that I might follow the progression of the storm and catch evbery bit of the pyrotechnics.

The fury of the storm took me back to days of my youth when my mother would call my sister and I inside at the first rumble of thunder. My father would move through the house unplugging all things electric while my mother kept us kids quarantined on the couch with our feet tucked beneath out butts.

Sitting on the coarse cushions, watching lightning strobe through the windows I would hear the back door open and close... my father going out on the carport to watch nature's fury.

As I got older I dared to challenge being relegated to the couch and earned the right to join my father outdoors.  Oh, the adrenaline rush that came with the sizzle of a lightning bolt passing closely by; the momentary jolt of surprise tinged with fear when a deafening crack filled the air; the ecstasy of deep rumbles of thunder passing in waves. I took offense at the rain that kept me trapped in the carport. I wanted to run through neighboring yards, chasing the lightning bolts as they searched for ground, wanted to shout out challenges as I raced the wind.