![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Jun. 29th, 2007 11:22 amSitting in my office yesterday, I heard a loud crash that sounded like thunder--but the sun was shining and the sky was blue out my window. I decided to ignore it until it happened again--louder. It was unmistakable this time: thunder was definitely headed my way. For the first time in years, I dashed outside (with an errand I needed to run as my excuse) and watched the storm roll in.
I've always loved thunderstorms. Something about the tension in the air (and its eventual release as rain) is extremely pleasing to me--makes me feel at once excited to be alive and at peace, as though all is right in the world. I remember watching a storm in Denver (some of the most remarkable storms I've ever seen have happened there during different visits). In this case, there was thunder and lightning crashing outside, and I was staying on the seventh floor of a dorm that had these wonderful window seats that jutted out from the building and were almost entirely made of glass. I was sitting there, pressing my face up against the window to see the lightning, when my roommate completely freaked out and made me back away from the windows. She was probably the wiser of us (although from what I recall, lightning typically strikes the tallest thing in the area, and I'm sure our building had a lightning rod at the top, several stories up), but I remember thinking how awful it must be to fear something so (in the literal sense) awesome.
Yesterday's storm was unique in that on one half of the sky, everything was blue and clear and stiflingly muggy. The other half of the sky was filled, not with thunderheads and enormous sprawling clouds, but simply approaching darkness, like a line of clouds, indivisible from each other, approaching ever so slowly with might roars announcing their presence. The rain, when it came, was short, and today the heat has been relieved (though the sky is still covered in thick gray cloud).
I've always loved thunderstorms. Something about the tension in the air (and its eventual release as rain) is extremely pleasing to me--makes me feel at once excited to be alive and at peace, as though all is right in the world. I remember watching a storm in Denver (some of the most remarkable storms I've ever seen have happened there during different visits). In this case, there was thunder and lightning crashing outside, and I was staying on the seventh floor of a dorm that had these wonderful window seats that jutted out from the building and were almost entirely made of glass. I was sitting there, pressing my face up against the window to see the lightning, when my roommate completely freaked out and made me back away from the windows. She was probably the wiser of us (although from what I recall, lightning typically strikes the tallest thing in the area, and I'm sure our building had a lightning rod at the top, several stories up), but I remember thinking how awful it must be to fear something so (in the literal sense) awesome.
Yesterday's storm was unique in that on one half of the sky, everything was blue and clear and stiflingly muggy. The other half of the sky was filled, not with thunderheads and enormous sprawling clouds, but simply approaching darkness, like a line of clouds, indivisible from each other, approaching ever so slowly with might roars announcing their presence. The rain, when it came, was short, and today the heat has been relieved (though the sky is still covered in thick gray cloud).
