When the night falls
Doors close all around you
The world is still
Thunder breaks the silence
Lightning strikes
Branches fly through windows
Sea defences break by oceans roar
All hell let loose,
the devil has come to call
There is stillness no more…
Lightning
Pure energy. Raw, angry, flashing across the night sky
Like a child throwing its toys from the pram
Lightning cannot be held, not even in a bottle.
I feel it in me, a part of me, the anger
Pouring blue lightning from my fingertips
That beautiful flash of sky painting
Gone in a millisecond.
Yet the image remains on the back of my eyes
A moment longer. A memory for me to keep.
I feel energised, ready to take on anything.
The storm continues
Painting pictures across the black clouds
Veins from a dying leaf
Roots from a dead tree
Finely feathered fingers of a butterfly’s wing.
All this magic from two clouds colliding energy
Drawn from Earth, meets that from above
Thunder like the beat of a thousand drums
Fills my body with pure sound.
After the storm, magic can still be found
In the silence that remains…
Anita Dawes
The Power of Lightning
One of my most favourite things has to be a good thunderstorm. Throughout my life, I have experienced so many, it would be hard to pick the best one. Like most of Nature’s gifts to us, there can be no favourites, as they are all so wonderful.
When I was a child, it was impressed upon me how dangerous they were. I was never to go near a window, or even look at a storm. Never to pick up a telephone, or God forbid, actually go outdoors. None of which, of course, had any effect on me, except to probably make me want to do all of these things all the more.
Something about the distant rumble of thunder has me counting the miles, desperate for it to travel to where I am. I love to watch the show, go out in the rain and get soaking wet, even though it could be dangerous. I just have to try to be a part of it.
A while ago, in the middle of a storm, it appeared to be moving away, so I opened the back door for a better idea of what was happening. Just at that moment, a huge bolt of lightning hit a nearby tree, barely yards from where I was standing. The force of it nearly blew the door off its hinges!
But was I scared? Was I heck…
I love the power and beauty of a storm, the smell of electricity in the air. The way the sky seems to glow with violet light, the searing white shards that chase their way to earth.
They always end too soon, though, leaving me disappointed.
I will always remember the storms of my childhood, and maybe it is my imagination, but didn’t they seem to last longer then? I would lie in my bed at night, listening to the thunder, the world washed so clean in the morning…
My favourite Lightning song…
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…
