|Mare's Musings are Merely the Meandering Meditations of the Mind of Mare|
There’s a storm brewing somewhere! I can hear it in the distance. I can feel it in the air. I can smell the sweet scent of rain drifting on the breeze as a few spots start to plop here and there from the clouds that hang on the extreme edges of the slowly moving beast. I hear it’s roar, all be it muffled, as it lopes its way across the ever darkening sky, gradually increasing in strength and volume, stirring the trees into a frenzy, until it reaches its magnificent crescendo and passes overhead, unleashing its full wrath on everything in its path and then passing on leaving the air fresh, the earth saturated and silence in its wake.
I’ve always loved thunder storms, even as a child. There is something exciting about them. The air feels charged with anticipation as a storm approaches. The usually noisy birds outside the window seem to become still and you can hear dogs barking in the distance what seems to be a warning of impending danger. The trees move with the breeze coming from the distant storm, gradually increasing in intensity as the storm approaches.
|Karen and Merrion (I'm the cute one)|
My sister and I used to love sitting at the back door of my Mum’s house when we were small, peering through the screen door watching the changing sky, awaiting the approaching storm with excitement because there might be hail in it that we could scoop up in plastic cups.
My children seem to have inherited my love of rain and thunder storms, at least when they were little, even though in particularly severe storms the excitement would sometimes turn to fear and panic, especially when the lights went out eliciting screams from the dark corners of the house where each child found themselves at the time of the blackout.
More often than not, especially during the evening storms, at the first flash of lightening followed by the predicable clap of thunder, we would all gather in the lounge room to sit squashed together on the lounge and watch the storm through the large window that looks out over the scenic hills and into the distance. Many an interesting conversation has taken place on those evenings when we would sit in the dark, watching the lightening with 'ooohs' and 'aaaahs' whilst screaming and plugging our ears at the booming thunder then laugh ourselves silly over the way one of us had jumped at the sudden noise.
What wonderful memories I have of those times, tucked away in the back of my mind and brought back to life simply by the distant sound of thunder as I sit here at my desk.
There is something cathartic about a good storm. Especially in summer, the way a tropical storm often clears the air and leaves a gentle breeze to dance amongst the trees and soft rain continues to patter on the aluminium roof over the veranda with a soothing rhythm, replenishing the parched ground and finally you are able to breath deeply the refreshing cool air after the stifling stillness of extreme heat and humidity.
As I sit here and watch the clouds in their varying degrees of white and grey, swirl around the sky, pushed ever forward by the eye of the storm, I find myself willing it to come this way and fulfil it's promise that it has been teasing with all morning and unleash its wares on this spot of ground. But, alas, I fear it has other destinations in mind and that we will once again only be in the peripheral of the beauty of the storm.
Do you love a good storm? What happy or scary memories do they conjure up for you?