Newscasters kept interrupting Friday Night Lights last night, filling the 47 inch tv screen with an angry splash of orange and red,warning us there were massive storms on the way. About 9:30 we hurried the dogs into the yard to take care of their nightly duties before the rain hit. In the yard behind us, heard but not seen, the teenage boy who lived there was still bouncing his basketball in the darkness. The orchard sparkled with the lights of a million frantic fireflies. We hadn't been inside for ten minutes when I heard the rushing of wind. Our mountainous pine trees swayed menacingly, and the roof was pelted with small limbs and sticks flying through the air. I gathered all the candles in one place, put a flashlight at the ready. Electricity flickered, but never died.
Soon the rain came, blowing in sheets across the driveway and down the street, huge droplets being chased by the wind. Only 1/2 inch fell, I heard later - a small amount compared to the two inches we got in one hour a weekend ago.
I love storms, and can hardly resist standing in front of the big picture window watching the show outside. Even as a child, I pouted when my mother and grandmother would herd us all into the basement at the first dark cloud. There's a magical feeling about being safe inside while the familiar world around you becomes wild and furious.
This morning, all is calm and clear. The sun beams down, the yard is something of a sauna, the flowers stand stalwart and strong. It's not unlike life, is it? Storms rage in our hearts and souls, and yet somehow we continue to pick ourselves up and carry on. Resilience, I suppose you'd call it. We come by it naturally, a means of survival in this windswept world.
How about you? Do you like stormy weather? Or does the first thunderbolt send you right under the covers?