I spent years of my life being afraid of big thunderstorms, and in the present moment, I remember why and I remember well. I remember the first time I decided I wasn’t afraid of them. I was an insecure fourteen year old desperately trying to let go of childish ways. And I did, for the most part, decide that it is completely irrational to be afraid of thunderstorms, and I moved on, for the most part.

Tonight, though, I’m taken back. I remember what is scary about them. It’s the thunder so loud it can wake you and shake your whole bedroom. It’s the way sheets and sheets of rain hit your window. It’s the sound of the water spilling off buildings, rushing through gutters. It’s the image of fast windshield wipers frantically trying to catch up and never quite being able to. It’s the brief moment of silent anticipation broken by the loudest of loud thunders that make you feel certain that you’re not going to be okay. It’s the way it creeps closer and closer and you feel it move closer and closer and than it moves away and than you can breathe again. More than anything though, I hate the way you can’t avoid lightening. If flashes into your reality even with your eyes closed. Distant, but there.

And what’s most remarkable is that some people will wake up having slept through the entire thing without having the slightest clue there was anything to fear at all. Without the slightest clue, they’ll simply see the life and nourishment that comes with the rain.


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