I strolled downtown this evening for a Thai New Year celebration with friends. As I left home, the sky was ominous, again, battleship-dark clouds heavy with rain lurking in the distance. I gambled and walked the mile, flipping my music to minor-keyed songs that seemed fitting.
All night, the perfect summer storm had raged, shaking the house and setting off car alarms as July-intensity thunder roared for hours. Strobe-lightning pierced my blackout curtains, lighting up my bedroom like daytime. The cat burrowed her face under a blanket, snoring deeply, but I kept waking, peering out over the river as lightning danced through town.
Typically, I love summer storms, but this one was particularly ferocious, and I fought the urge to go check the basement as sheets of rain pinged against the siding. (In the morning light, wet pawprints on the basement stairs confirmed what I had assumed. Luckily, the seepage was minimal and quickly squeegeed away. Looks like I’ll be cleaning gutters again soon.)
After such a strangely warm spring that brought a blaze of tulips nearly a month early, the summer storm seemed out of place. Nights are still cool, perfect for my lightest flannel pants and deliciously bare feet under a blanket. But the storm decimated the tulips, scattering petals across the yard, and brought down still-naked branches and twigs.
And now, thunder rumbles again, bringing another round.