It's storming like crazy up here. I mean seriously crazy. Check out the size of the hailstones that brought down the skylight at a mall that's fifteen minutes from my house:
I had a miserable 90 minute commute home in nudge-nudge-nudge traffic (vs my normal 45 minute fly-like-the-wind-down-the-open-road commute) and lots of people in the area are without power. I'm okay (knock wood), just hanging out surfing Facebook and Reddit, reading about everyone freaking out about the storms.
And it's easy for me to feel not-so-freaked-out when I'm safe and cozy on my couch, but I have to say it:
Damn, I love storms.
I love giant booms of thunder and brilliant flashes of lightning. I love rain pounding against the windows and the sound of wind howling. I love nature showing off in all her glory.
When I was a kid, growing up in New Mexico, thunderstorms were expected when it rained. Unlike the gentle, all-day soakers we get up here in the Mid-Atlantic, rainstorms in New Mexico frequently came on with incredible force and left shortly after, rolling the clouds away and leaving the sunshine.
My mother used to yell at me because I'd run out into the backyard and stand in it, arms stretched wide, laughing and spinning and dancing in it. I remember wishing I could strip my clothes off. Never got that brave, though - my mother would have killed me.
When I had kids of my own, I understood her motherly concern, but I let my kids out in the rain. As long as the thunder is only a rumble off in the distance, we all go out in it. When they were younger, we danced. Now we splash and stomp and take walks in it.
And when the lightening and thunder comes, we stand by the windows, marveling at it. When the power goes out, we light the candles and climb under the blanket on the couch and we love it. We all love it.
Mother Nature, you're a sexy, sexy beast.