Today is one of those intensely refreshing days - very breezy, with a mix of sun and cloud, and invigorating temperatures. Some folks I know would say it's "Cold." But I love this kind of thunderstorm cleansed morning-after.
When I was a child, I hated thunderstorms; they scared the living daylights out of me, especially the night time ones. Lightning lit up my bedroom, casting scary shadows across the walls. But the thunder was worse. Those ear-splitting, room-shaking, gut vibrating booms were beyond my worst nightmare.I recall lying in my dark bedroom, hands cupped close to my ears. A flash of lightning gave life to the shadows and I began a countdown, my small voice quavering in the dark, "One and one thousand, two and one thousand, three and one thousand, four and one thousand..." until the crash of thunder stopped the count. Each group of four in the countdown, that is every four seconds, between lightning seen and thunder heard measured one mile of distance to the storm centre, or so my Dad the weatherman said.
As the number of seconds between flash and bang decreased, fear increased - exponentially. I never cried out - at least not that I remember. I took it to be a badge of courage to make it through the storm (there's got to be a morning after?). Instead, I counted and shuddered, and counted and moaned, and counted and whimpered, drenched in sweat under blankets and pillow. Truly, the end of the world was at hand.
These days, I'm not so terrified of thunderstorms. In fact, I love a good thunder boomer, a ringtail snorter of a rang dang doo, as the character Charlie Farquharson would have described it. Nothing can beat that rambunctious, flashy splash of refreshment. Honesty demands that I confess to a few vestiges of thunderstorm terror in the dark hours.
A low rumble in the distance rouses me. A flash of light dances around the room and the familiar countdown sequence so deeply imprinted on my being begins again. My gut clenches involuntarily in memory of stormy nights past. Most often I just roll over and fall back to sleep but every once in a while the storm is big enough, flashy enough, noisy enough to fully waken the old fear machine.
I tug the pillow tightly around my ears, stretch out my leg until toes touch a sleeping husband for reassurance that I am not alone. In the darkness, a whimper is heard. Surely not I? Hot panting breath hits my not quite buried face, then a cold nose nudges my cheek followed by a heavy paw on my arm.
"Just thought you should know mummy," seventy-five pounds of hyper-vigilant canine warns, "truly, the end of the world is at hand."
Well, the world did not end and in my neighbourhood we did not even get the super-soaking we needed (a mere15mm or just over half an inch delivered in a few gushes), nor the high winds (which we didn't need anyway). Thunder did rumble and roll from time to time but nothing house-shaking nor ear-splitting. While it may not have been the ringtail snorter that excited forecasters gushed about, this bog-standard summer thunderstorm still delivered on fresh air - renewing the land along with my heart and soul. It is a good day to renew, restore, refresh.
Still together though apart.
Take Care.
Be well.
©2020 April Hoeller
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