Green skies

It’s raining this morning. The tin roof over our back patio makes that delightful ping and patter sound as the rain falls. One could almost discern a pattern in it and then the rhythm changes. The morning light has a slightly green/yellow cast that I associate with those big storms of my youth.

I’ve lived a lot of places, but I grew up in the Hill Country of Texas. No matter where I’ve gone Texas has been home. The Hill Country is at the extreme southern end of tornado alley; I grew up with severe storms. I vividly remember sitting at the supper table with my family one evening when lightning struck close to the house. I jumped up from my seat and I might have even screamed. My father said, “It’s just thunder.” I looked from my parents to my brother, who all were calm and composed. That helped me put the scary sound into a context. I picked up my chair and went back to eating.

“It’s just thunder”. That phrase comforted me many nights when I woke up to a boom that shook the house. It’s just thunder. It’s just a thunderstorm. And I would fall back asleep.

And then we moved away from Texas. Thunderstorms were just a memory. As they say, absence makes the heart grow fonder. I grew to miss those storms. There is something awe-inducing in seeing lightning crackle across the sky. I hope to one day have a house with a covered porch where I can sit and rock and watch the storms roll in from a distance.

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