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As I count down my last few weeks here, there will probably be several of these, but this afternoon I was reminded how very, very much I love midsummer thunderstorms, and how much I'll miss them. Or, to be more precise:
The long, long setup, days of suffocating heat, stifling humidity, the parched ground and shrivelling plants, the relentless sun, the hours of suffering creeping past;
The futile attempt to keep some coolness in the house by sealing up all the doors and windows, closing the blinds, and sitting in the dark, sweating slowly and steadily, fans droning;
The moment when one realizes that, outside the blinds, the glaring sun has started to dim, the sky is turning overcast, and so one pulls up the weather radar on the web and sees the big red blobs moving slowly and ominously eastward;
The moment when one opens the door and steps outside, cautiously, to check the sky, expecting the furnace-blast of heat, and discovers that Holy crap, it's cooling down out here!, and that a fresh cool damp-smelling wind has sprung up, and, upon checking Wunderground, finds that the temperature has dropped 15 degrees in the past half-hour;
The mad scramble to open up all possible windows and get all possible fresh cool damp-smelling wind through the house before the rain begins;
The sound of thunder in the distance, at first intermittent and faint, and then louder, and closer, until it's a steady heavy thudding rumble;
The way the sky gets darker, and darker, until finally the street lights click on, and the wind gets stronger and stronger, and the thunder louder and closer;
The first big scary cowabunga! flash of lightning that sends one scuttling indoors to shut down/unplug the computer, and close all the windows, and then the kablam of thunder that shakes the floorboards under one's feet;
And then--then the rain, at last, a few random heavy splats at first, and then more, and thicker, and heavier, until it's coming down in sheets, waterfalls, cascades, pounding down so hard it bounces off the roof of the garage next door and explodes into a huge shimmering wavering veil of glorious cool fresh wetness;
And the thunder, and the lightning, and the smell of ozone, and the sight of great rivers of stormwater flooding the streets;
And finally, the storm moving on, the rain slowing to a steady peaceful fall, the thunder quieting, the house finally cooled down, the plants replenished, everything smelling fresh and green and damp and alive.
Yeah. I'll miss this. Not the long, long, miserable-suffocating-heat setup -- but all the rest of it? Yeah.
The long, long setup, days of suffocating heat, stifling humidity, the parched ground and shrivelling plants, the relentless sun, the hours of suffering creeping past;
The futile attempt to keep some coolness in the house by sealing up all the doors and windows, closing the blinds, and sitting in the dark, sweating slowly and steadily, fans droning;
The moment when one realizes that, outside the blinds, the glaring sun has started to dim, the sky is turning overcast, and so one pulls up the weather radar on the web and sees the big red blobs moving slowly and ominously eastward;
The moment when one opens the door and steps outside, cautiously, to check the sky, expecting the furnace-blast of heat, and discovers that Holy crap, it's cooling down out here!, and that a fresh cool damp-smelling wind has sprung up, and, upon checking Wunderground, finds that the temperature has dropped 15 degrees in the past half-hour;
The mad scramble to open up all possible windows and get all possible fresh cool damp-smelling wind through the house before the rain begins;
The sound of thunder in the distance, at first intermittent and faint, and then louder, and closer, until it's a steady heavy thudding rumble;
The way the sky gets darker, and darker, until finally the street lights click on, and the wind gets stronger and stronger, and the thunder louder and closer;
The first big scary cowabunga! flash of lightning that sends one scuttling indoors to shut down/unplug the computer, and close all the windows, and then the kablam of thunder that shakes the floorboards under one's feet;
And then--then the rain, at last, a few random heavy splats at first, and then more, and thicker, and heavier, until it's coming down in sheets, waterfalls, cascades, pounding down so hard it bounces off the roof of the garage next door and explodes into a huge shimmering wavering veil of glorious cool fresh wetness;
And the thunder, and the lightning, and the smell of ozone, and the sight of great rivers of stormwater flooding the streets;
And finally, the storm moving on, the rain slowing to a steady peaceful fall, the thunder quieting, the house finally cooled down, the plants replenished, everything smelling fresh and green and damp and alive.
Yeah. I'll miss this. Not the long, long, miserable-suffocating-heat setup -- but all the rest of it? Yeah.