Sunday morning. 6:30 a.m. One of my very favorite things in the world is happening right now.
A few minutes ago, as I lay in bed halfway between asleep and awake, groggily deciding whether I should get up, make a cup of coffee and read the New York Times, or just go back to sleep for a little while, a flash of light made my decision for me.
I waited, holding my breath, hoping it wasn’t some electronic device in our bedroom that had flashed. Then, a few seconds later: joy. Boom! Plink, plink, plink.
I leapt out of bed and slipped outside to sit on the back porch.
There are few things in this world I love more than being awakened by an early Sunday morning thunderstorm. I love almost everything about thunderstorms. The first, hesitant drops of rain plinking on our skylights. The whooshing water running out of the gutters. The overlapping, repeating circles erupting on the patio puddles and on the surface of the pool. The soft roars of thunder in the distance as the storm drifts away. The way the flowers become bright exclamation points in the soggy gray light. I love how nature becomes so geometric and creative and beautiful and active.
When I was little, we had a screened-in porch. During thunderstorms, we always gathered on the porch to watch the sky erupt. Mom made popcorn and lemonade. I sat on her lap. We counted between lightning and thunder. Often, we were quiet, listening to the peacefulness of the rain and the tumbling of the sky.
In Texas, we always need the rain. Anytime it rains, I’m grateful. But when that rain comes with a gentle thunderstorm, it’s a treat. Thank you for the rain and this morning’s show. And thank you for not bringing any tornadoes with it.