Southern Thunder
All day the storm builds. White puffy clouds climbing higher. Sunset’s brilliant orange glow dresses the gathering storm foretelling the evening drama. Dusk comes. Far off lightning flashes lighting the night time sky. Silently the wind builds to a howling roar, and the rain falls. Then the thunder. The southern thunder of an Ozark spring storm.
I’m lying in a hammock inside my friend’s home reading. Safe, warm, and comfortably protected from this ferocious storm. The violence of the night is pleasant only because I’m not in it. This is a night for stories, for sharing life with one another, for holding your darling love close. Hearts beating harder than the thunder. A lover’s storm.
I am happy in my hammock reading my book. All is well in the world, and the storm passes leaving a memory of southern thunder.
I miss the sound of thunder and heavy rain. We don’t get any thunder out here (maybe once every 5 years) and if it rains a half inch, it’s a downpour.