Out like a lamb?

It seems that the arrival of spring wanted to be violent this year, judging from the huge band of supercell thunderstorms that graced the Midwest with its presence. I lay in bed reading a book last night, taking in the pleasant scent coming from the partially opened window in my bedroom. It is not fully describable, but you know what I speak of: the heady, weighted aroma the air takes on just before a raucous electrical storm... part earth, part incoming rain. As I read I listened to the wind growing stronger, rattling the apartment's flag against the flagpole, resulting in a complicated, tinny one-pitched rhythm. Neighbor's dogs began to bark as the first initial smacks of raindrops hit the sidewalk. Then the first strike of lightning lit up my window as I smiled...waiting, waiting....there it is. The first grumble of thunder. The crescendo built gradually, reaching a level of intensity that had my sheer curtains fluttering away from the window as the scent of falling rain enveloped my room. Cracks of ear-splitting thunder could almost be heard above the waterfall pouring off my roof onto the concrete below. I was content. When the rain slowed, and the flashes of light became less constant, I drifted off into the deepest, most satisfying sleep I have had in a long, long time.

I have fond memories of the many times I stood upon our porch in South Carolina, just waiting and watching as a fierce storm approached. It puzzled and aggravated my parents to no end, and they were forced to drag me inside the house almost every time. I cannot explain the pull I feel toward storms. I am simply awed by the power of something so huge and out of our control, that I wish to see it firsthand, head-on. Suits my Aries personality, in that I love a challenge, and I'm often too stubborn to admit when something is beyond my reach.

On September 22, 1989, I stood outside and watched huge, puffy clouds race across the sky the evening that Hurricane Hugo rocked our little Southern town. I remember that evening well, not only because of the destruction it caused to our house, city and lives, but because I witnessed one of the most heartbreakingly beautiful sunsets ever seen. Night fell and I stayed awake for the duration of the catastrophe, fascinated by the powerful winds threatening to shatter our windows that were suctioning in and out in the frames, amazed by the sound pine trees make when their trunks are twisted and lifted out of the earth..only to be tossed aside like a rag doll. I felt little fear- more fascination than any other emotion. My family was very lucky to only have lost 30+ trees in our yard, two sheds in the backyard, and minor roof damage from the one pine tree that hit our house.
Mother Nature is a strong woman. A lady to be reckoned with. At times like last evening it seems she can be wonderfully understanding about when we need a bit of excitement...a reminder of the power of life, with its ups, downs, goods and bads. To make us live a little stronger. A little bolder. With a bit more panache.