Miles of Thunder

Usually, it takes between 48 and 72 hours for bad weather to travel from the Midwest to the southern states. The storm that T mentions in her last blog seems to have broken the land speed record, however; it arrived in less than 24 hours, on its way to meet the Atlantic for a hot date. We were alerted to this nasty storm's approach by T's blog and the inclement weather announcements that were interrupting the television shows that were on.

I ventured from home to get a bite to eat a little while ago, and I was astounded by the feeling of electricity coursing through the air, obviously a result of the repeated lightning strikes I was witnessing. Each barrage of strikes was punctuated by the sound of crisp, impatient thunder rolling across what sounded like five or ten miles. Though it had rained softly earlier in the evening, during my brief trip out it was not raining. Instead, the atmosphere was oppressive and I sensed the sky bearing down on the earth, pregnant with water and very angry about it.

After dinner, the sky decided it had carried its burden long enough, and poured its contents down on the earth as if from a bucket. The lightning and thunder abated. The interruptions on the television continued, though not as frequently. Thirty minutes later, the deluge ceased and the world resumed the quiet, damp stance it held prior the storm.

After a storm like this, I always make a point to call T and personally thank her for sending crappy weather my way. She's usually torn between telling me that despite her goddess status, she really doesn't have that kind of power, or simply saying "You're welcome. It's the least I can do." She's such a giver.