She Peed, She Burped, She Flashed

A thunderstorm rolled through here this afternoon like a goat in heat. I mean, it didn’t even slow down long enough to say, “How do you do?” It blew a lot of rain at us for a few minutes, made loud noises and tossed some light displays around the area and then it was gone without so much as a fare-thee-well.

What I really like is a good thunderstorm (or set of them, as I think they hang out in cells) which lasts for hours. Some good cloud-cloud lightning, some excellent cloud-ground stuff you can see from the beach or a high building. Good, soul-satisfying thunderclaps. Of this is the stuff of tall tales made.

I like it now, but I didn’t like it then. There was a period of my life when lightning frightened me badly. Terrified me. I don’t know why, but one time I had to choose between checking out my best friend’s ham radio antenna and avoiding being out in a lightning storm. He really wanted me to go with him; I just couldn’t.

Then I noticed, one day, it didn’t make any difference. Well, it did when the bolts struck nearby and the thunder indicated it was less than a quarter mile. Quite possibly that would happen to anyone with an ounce of self-preservation. There is only so much bravery in any one of us; then it’s time to cut and run.

I was once inside the cone of thunder. Lightning hit the tower of a radio station I was at and the thunder started outside of where I was standing. Was. No more.