Thunderstorms

Summer thunderstorms are my favorite!!!

I grew up in the desert southwest.  There are two things I think are quintessential "desert": thunderstorms and night skies.

Thunderheads building up over the mountains.

A thunderstorm starts building early:  the humidity builds, the sun scorches, the heat becomes heavy and full.  As the day progresses, clouds start to build up along the mountain tops:  huge columns of thick gray cloud, tinted with the pink and gold of sunset.  As night slinks silently over the overheated soil, air columns start to rise, twisting the cloud columns into grotesque and beautiful forms. And then, as the sun sets, lightening starts to flash along the horizon, morse-code for "God is Alive and Well, but only cares as much as you do".

Then the electricity sparks and seems to emmanate from our very bodies. As night sets the flashing continues, pulsing at the rate of my heart.

I sleep well under the eerie sight.

Summer Rain

Woke up this morning to the scent of summer rain.  If water can smell hot, then summer rains here smell hot. The pungent scent of the creosote and the wet leaves of the desert willow, in tandem with the air thick with water and the sky painted up with clouds make for a scent as thick as honey and as heady. The moisture in the air sucks the brilliance out of the sky: the haze cuts the desert asure blue.

Today is a lazy day.  It is the Fourth of July.  Should be a great celebration of our Nation's independence.  Like so many holidays, it is lost in the soup of material madness. Yes, I enjoy the fireworks, although not under my window at 3 am.  And I do appreciate this country, having seen a bit of others. So yes, I am cynical about it all, but I love having a lazy day to smell the rain, read, drink my morning joe at leisure and think about my life.

I think about what my parents are leaving for us and what my generation is leaving for our children.  Hmmm. I think about how much firecrackers scare my dog and keep me awake, and yet how fun to watch them burn -- there is a little pyromaniac in all of us.  I can smell the neighborhood bbqs, although I am not participating in that particular ritual, but the smell is tantalizing, and my dog keeps putting her nose to the wind and tasting it. No, we shall close the doors, and she will huddle and shake as the fireworks go off and I will comfort her and drink sweet tea and read a good book.  And appreciate my life.