There is something about nature that fascinates us all. And terrifies us. It’s uncontrollable, wild, forceful. These past few months, I’ve had to contend with wind storms unlike anything I dealt with up until this point. There’s an energy in the air, like everyone is subconsciously holding their breath, waiting for the plunge.
Those moments are almost more electrifying than the storms themselves. I like the edge, I think, the border of the cliff. It allows me to survey the land below, scanning for anything that feels off.
I’m not sure if this is making sense, but it’s been a long day already, and I’m currently in one of these “calm before” moments. Presumably, another storm cluster is going to pass through, and I can feel the tension of wondering if it will come soon.
These moments make me feel like I can control the thunder, that I can summon the lightning to do anything. And they also make me feel like a meaningless speck, floating in the debris cloud of the cyclonic storm. I don’t know which one is more real. There are things I can control, and plenty of things that I can’t.
I don’t know if I’ll miss these storms, when I move. They do cause a lot of worry and angst that snowstorms don’t seem to cause. Wind coming off the mountains can be intense, but rarely have I seen it tear off rooftops and topple mobile homes.
But there is something about the wall of moisture, and electricity, and thunderous roar overhead that I kind of enjoy.
Thunder woke me up a few weeks ago. Directly over my home.
I’ll never forget how scared and awestruck I felt, that mixing feeling of metal and fire in my gut. I understood why the ancients always had a god of thunder that night. Only a fool would consider such power as anything other than divine (even insurance agencies recognize lightning striking as an act of God, right?)
Listen to the wind howling across the cliffs, and see what sound the sky makes.
-H.