does it make me strange to have an almost romantic affinity for summer thunderstorms?

the sound of distant thunder on the evening, no, not menacing, or foreboding, a promised release from the iron grip of summer’s heat, a most welcome visitor to this house in this hour, peak of summer thunderstorms have a different feel than other times of year, with sharpened brash fury they also bring comforting relief, there is the slow approach as the sound grows closer, the ground shakes slightly and then ever more slight, leaves tremble, forearm hairs begin cross conversation and stand on end at attention, every inch of air, every pound of ground knows what is coming, anticipation swells in all the land, then, without notice, without a proper introduction, the drops come, first, single file mostly, marking circular targets near my feet, then multiplying, uncontrollably, as if to color rain by number every square inch of space, soon all the ground is a tapestry of water either falling or catching or running, a thousand drummers pouring down aloud, no, now the sound of ten thousand drums exploding at once, and instantly the break, a crack of back, broken grip, snap the whip against the humidity’s oppressive lock, that stranglehold fades from the neck of day, freed chains drop with heft, relief, nature bringing balance back onto itself, in an instant, all the world revels in the scene, and I observer the cocoon broken to luscious butterfly.

the sound of distant thunder on the evening
carriage and main approaching
kicked up dust
double barrel loaded
the crash of thor’s hammer
electrical power to break the sky open
to shake – the very ground
bathed in streaming rivers
the world begins to drink
in sweet glory
the world will drink her fill