Summer storms...

The thunder woke me about 4:30 this morning, faint rumblings against the foothills that grew stronger, bolder, as if more sure of itself. One boom! right over the house made me sit bolt upright in bed, waking the cat (and Dave). It rained all day long, a much-needed rain.

I love thunderstorms, but I didn't always. I used to get up and hide in the bathroom of my parents' house, the only room in the house with no windows. I'd sit on the hamper and put my feet on the sink, and read until the storm passed.

It was my oldest sister, Kathie, who changed my mind about storms. During one particularly bad summer storm when she was home from college, she got up and coaxed me out of the bathroom and out to the carport, where we stood under the roof and watched the sky blaze with lightning, the rain pouring down the roof and overflowing the gutters. She taught me how to gauge the distance of the storm by counting the time between the lightning flash and the next crack of thunder. One thousand one, one thousand two... boom!

We stood there in our bathrobes and slippers, watching the storm and talking, until the storm passed and the rain let up, then went back to bed.

I was never afraid of thunderstorms again, and thanks to my sister, learned to love the raw strength and beauty of storms.