I love thunderstorms.
The whisper and wailing of the wind, the boom and crack of the thunder, the lightning that suddenly, shockingly, lights up the night sky.
Leaving me blinded for a moment, before it fades away...
only to come again.
Because sometimes in this mundane, boringly safe life... it's good to be reminded that not everything is perfect.
Not all good and excellent things are quiet and gentle.
That sometimes chaos and cacophony are not only a part of life,
but they are needed, as well.
A good thunderstorm is soothing to my soul, and it acts as a balm to my spirit.
Especially at night.
When it feels as if I'm all alone in the world, while my husband and the rest of the world are sleeping.
While most sane people are tucked safely up in their beds, snuggled down warmly in their bed-covers;
for me to be out on the porch, watching the wind and rain through sudden bright flashes of lightning...
To hear and see and feel all that power and glory and to feel that it's mine alone to experience, is such a wondrous thing.
I will never get tired of the night sky.
Of rolling, booming thunder shaking the very ground beneath me, while the lightning illuminates the dark world in short, quick bursts of light.
Of watching the rain come down so hard, that mud erupts from the ground like dancing effervescent sprites.
I feel sympathy for the small wild creatures of the night, who need to hide themselves away from this dangerous storm, but I also feel envy... that they are right there in the thick of it.
I am a ceraunophile.