Thunderbolts and Lightning
It’s been intermittently stormy here over the last week in NYC. Rain, whether light showers or hurricanes, is deeply woven into the fabric of my childhood. When it starts to pour, my mind wanders...
Rain is everyday at 4pm, and the certainty that you will have three full hours of daylight left after it’s over.
Rain is board games and Barbies with your baby-sitter.
Rain is huddled under concession stand awnings and in locker room doorways. It’s counting the minutes between lightning strikes to see if you can get back into the pool or onto the field.
Rain is that amazingly odd feeling of being submerged in water and still feeling the patter of the drops on your skin.
Rain is hot, sticky, plastic ponchos at football games.
Rain is the rides you hated at Disney World: Hall of Presidents (still boring) and Haunted Mansion (now awesome but then very scary).
Rain is an unanticipated snack break.
Rain is hoping for a hurricane day.
Rain is NOT what happened on the hurricane day, if you ever got one.
Rain is the thrill of lights flickering, and of using candles and flashlights when the power goes out.
Rain is tossing your head like a shaggy wet dog.
Rain is our retention pond becoming a lake that encompasses the entire backyard.
Rain is the flash of lightning as bright as day, and counting the seconds until the inevitable boom of thunder, measuring the miles to your home.
Rain is the swift current of the river moving toward a storm drain.
Rain is a mad dash through the parking lot for the car, or across the street to your best friend’s house.
Rain is never having an umbrella when you need one.
Rain is slate skies and gray waves.
Rain is watching safe and snug from a balcony or a patio.
Rain is the biggest puddle is the one you didn’t see.
Rain is blankets and movies, cheese and crackers.
Rain is an extra layer of sweats.
Rain is pulling over because your windshield wipers aren’t doing any good at all.
Rain is the seconds of silence when you pass under an overpass.
Rain is the disembodied sound of drops on the tin roof of a theater.
Rain is dirt on the backs of your calves and muddy footprints across the house.
Rain is the moment you are too soaked through to care. You stand up tall, tilt your head to the sky, and surrender.
*photo courtesy of gulfster.com