Monday, June 11, 2018


Thunderstorms have been rolling through the area for days, bringing odd flashes of light all times of night. Lying in bed, staring out the window, thinking about the moon, I listen to the rain falling against the house and the warm soft sighs of my sleeping puppies. It feels like a trance, lying in bed, watching the lights make shapes in the black.







Around me the are has that gunpowder smell. The smell of ozone and power and strength that is the smell of a Thunderstorm.

I remember,

I remember,

I remember,

Once when I was eight I remember standing in the middle of a dirt road at the top of a mountain. Wearing various sundry rags, legs scratched up from climbing trees, my fingernails a ratty dirty mess. The sky boiled that day, grey on black on grey with hints of green at the edges. The winds were not whipping yet, it was that quiet lull before the storm. I stood and inhaled. Exhaled. The dirt, inhale, the summer exhale. The ozone smell, the thunder. A little girl wondering what it would be like to ride a lightening bolt to safety. 

Waves break me out of my trance, keeping me from going back to far. I listen to the waves beat against the lake shore, loud and angry and forced by wind. Power, there too, boiling under the surface of the water, like the memories that float on the front of a thunder storm.

Lighting in the sky above.

Cool rain falling.

The ever restless motion of the inland sea.

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