None of looked forward to going to bed last night. The weather was still hot and very sticky, and the idea of trying to sleep was not appealing. The breeze that had been present most of the day had departed, leaving us all limp and wilted like a badly prepared salad.
I must have dropped off easily enough but kept waking up, amazed that the room was still so hot. Then the rumbles began. Faint and a long way off, at first I thought I imagined them, but as the night wore on, they became louder.
There was no lightning or rain at this point, so I wasn’t really sure if I was hearing thunder or not, but every time I woke up it seemed louder, and I knew a storm was coming our way.
We never seem to get very good storms where I live. We are protected by the South Downs here in Hampshire, and they seem to leap frog over us, maybe just one or two rolls of thunder before it moves up the country. But I was becoming hopeful as the thunder gradually got nearer.
The next roll was noticeably louder and more prolonged. I always imagine an angry God stomping about, showing his displeasure at us mortals. All that barely disguised power sending shivers of delightful anticipation up and down my spine. I have experienced some lovely storms during my lifetime, storms that raged all night, circling and creating mayhem, leaving the world scrubbed clean and fresh in the morning.
That was when the rain began, and the angry God of thunder let loose the money shot. It started softly, and gradually built to a crescendo, the house vibrating with the sheer force of it. I couldn’t believe the immensity of the sound, rolling around as if it didn’t want to stop. That would be all right by me, but I knew it wouldn’t stay. At least it should be cooler tomorrow, I thought, and you never know, there could be another storm…