Summer storms

I love the summer storms that have been rolling in almost every day this week. The days start with crisp sunshine and clear blue skies, but by mid-afternoon, the clouds have not only flown in, they've turned a little gray underneath. Then the breeze starts to pick up, and I watch from my office window as the tree branches start to dance. At first it's just a little shuffle-and-sway, but soon they're jumping and jiving to a rhythm I can feel through the glass. The drops start to slide down the window and the pavement produces a splattered pattern, until with a quick flash and booming roll, the thunderstorm starts up in earnest. The world is shaded, but it's not like January, gray and grim. The leaves, grass, flowers, and buildings are just as colored as when the sky is tranquil, just slick with rain. Usually the storms have moved on by the time I leave work in the evenings, but I can't get enough of the warm dampness and sweet smells that surround me when I walk to my car. I even relish the humidity hanging in the air. Sometimes I could swear that the rain has brought the woodsy smells of the mountain forests all the way down to the valley.

When I was growing up, I remember my mom gathering us up to sit on our front porch during thunderstorms, wrapped in our old brown blanket and counting between flashes and claps. Sometimes we'd run outside, my dad leading the way, when the rain came down in sheets and the sun was still glowing, jumping in puddles and watching the curb overflow with a torrential river. The storms usually moved on quickly, and the torrential rain never lasted more than ten minutes, but maybe that's why we celebrated them. My parents knew the joy of summer storms, and it's something I've carried with me. Summer isn't complete without a few crackling, drenching, sudden and swift downpours.

And of course, the full clouds at the end of the day make for the most amazing sunsets.



I can't get enough of this kind of summer.