Today, after months and months of dry dusty days, it rained. And rained. And rained. Water poured off the roof of my house and dug a hole in the ground where it landed. The dead grass glistened with droplets and I fully expect that when I leave for work tomorrow morning, numerous ant hills will have cropped up overnight, as if by magic, to enjoy this new delicacy we call water.
I missed the rain, and I knew I missed the rain, but to my surprise, I realized that I also missed the thunder. And as I stood under the awning, watching and listening to the elements dance around me, I realized that I missed the thunder more than the rain and I cried with joy as I welcomed my friend back from a long extended absence.
Violent rainstorms are my favorite. I love to see sheets and sheets of water pound the trees and the ground and hear its muted sound drum on my roof. I love to see the lightning as it streaks across the sky in its varied colors and bizarre patterns. But my favorite? By far it is the thunder.
Thunder is as varied as lightning. There is the loud CRAAACK!, and sometimes even a BOOM!, when it is right above me. In the far distance, it sounds like the low rumble of a bass voice that can be felt deep within my bones. But it is those rumbles that are neither near nor far that are so different even from each other. Sometimes they start as a pinpoint of sound then they slowly bloom into full fledged lengthy rumbles until they finally fade away. Sometimes they start on one side then roll over me and through me only to fade away on the other side. In rural areas, like where I live, the thunder rolls over the land only to fade away in some far distant land over the horizon. Like fingerprints, no two thunders are alike.
Welcome back, my old friend. And please do not stay away so long next time.