It started with an unexpected flash in the wee hours of the morning. Not long after, a crack of thunder pulled me from sleep as the clouds opened up to share their aqualicious bounty with the earth.
The torrent began rapidly, and continued with a consistent barrage. I could hear it outside pelting the pavement. Bursts of wind swept through the open windows above the bed and my head. Once, but only once, a light spritz of raindrops blew in through the screen and hit my cheek. It was a pleasant sensation, on a warm night with the cool wind blowing through. I waited for a second spritz, anticipated and almost willed it, but none came.
I thought about getting up, to look outside at the downpour and watch for streaks of lightning shooting across the sky, but I stayed put. The covers were cozy. I was warm and dry.
A strike of lightning lit the room for a moment illuminating a silhouette of my cat who had come into the room to make sure I was fully awake and to provide solace against the manifestations of the storm. Not more than a second later, lightning's thunderous companion reverberated through the airwaves startling both me and the feline. We were in the heat and heart of the squall. Instinctively the cat jumped up and nuzzled under the covers with her head on my husband's arm. Thank goodness she was there to comfort me.
I closed my eyes, listening to the ruckus, under the cool sheets on the bed, under the cool sheets of rain falling outside - finding peace and contentment in the unyielding strength of Mother Nature. I've always loved a summer storm, especially in the middle of the night, when you can lie still and safe in the calmness of your bed under a sturdy roof while around you the world reacts with intense energy, strength and power.
It makes me feel small and insignificant, but somehow in a good way. There's comfort in knowing Mother Nature is in control and can cleanse the earth, water the garden, fill birdbaths and make mud puddles all in one fell swoop - it's multitasking by the master. I guess there's a certain amount of relief in realizing you are a tiny cog in the overall scheme of the universe, and power and control are in the hands of something much bigger and grander than yourself. It sort of takes the pressure off.
That, and it relieves you from the duty of having to water the garden this week.
The rain continued in a steady stream while I lay listening and thinking about everything and nothing the way one can do sometimes in the wee hours of the morning. I may have dozed off mid-storm (one can never be sure of dozing). When I checked the clock the storm had been brooding for over an hour. By this time the thunder and lightning had abated, but the rain maintained a firm presence as night prepared to hand the reins over to morning.
The sun rose and the rain finally subsided into something slightly more than a sprinkle and then, finally, into something slightly less. The storm had passed and it was time to get up and get started with the day. As I did, I gave thanks - for summer storms, the wind, time to ponder, Mother Nature, comfy beds, pillows, rooftops, husbands and, of course, kitties that jump up in the night.
- Jill Pertler's column appears Thursdays in the Times. She can be reached at pertmn@qwest.net.
The torrent began rapidly, and continued with a consistent barrage. I could hear it outside pelting the pavement. Bursts of wind swept through the open windows above the bed and my head. Once, but only once, a light spritz of raindrops blew in through the screen and hit my cheek. It was a pleasant sensation, on a warm night with the cool wind blowing through. I waited for a second spritz, anticipated and almost willed it, but none came.
I thought about getting up, to look outside at the downpour and watch for streaks of lightning shooting across the sky, but I stayed put. The covers were cozy. I was warm and dry.
A strike of lightning lit the room for a moment illuminating a silhouette of my cat who had come into the room to make sure I was fully awake and to provide solace against the manifestations of the storm. Not more than a second later, lightning's thunderous companion reverberated through the airwaves startling both me and the feline. We were in the heat and heart of the squall. Instinctively the cat jumped up and nuzzled under the covers with her head on my husband's arm. Thank goodness she was there to comfort me.
I closed my eyes, listening to the ruckus, under the cool sheets on the bed, under the cool sheets of rain falling outside - finding peace and contentment in the unyielding strength of Mother Nature. I've always loved a summer storm, especially in the middle of the night, when you can lie still and safe in the calmness of your bed under a sturdy roof while around you the world reacts with intense energy, strength and power.
It makes me feel small and insignificant, but somehow in a good way. There's comfort in knowing Mother Nature is in control and can cleanse the earth, water the garden, fill birdbaths and make mud puddles all in one fell swoop - it's multitasking by the master. I guess there's a certain amount of relief in realizing you are a tiny cog in the overall scheme of the universe, and power and control are in the hands of something much bigger and grander than yourself. It sort of takes the pressure off.
That, and it relieves you from the duty of having to water the garden this week.
The rain continued in a steady stream while I lay listening and thinking about everything and nothing the way one can do sometimes in the wee hours of the morning. I may have dozed off mid-storm (one can never be sure of dozing). When I checked the clock the storm had been brooding for over an hour. By this time the thunder and lightning had abated, but the rain maintained a firm presence as night prepared to hand the reins over to morning.
The sun rose and the rain finally subsided into something slightly more than a sprinkle and then, finally, into something slightly less. The storm had passed and it was time to get up and get started with the day. As I did, I gave thanks - for summer storms, the wind, time to ponder, Mother Nature, comfy beds, pillows, rooftops, husbands and, of course, kitties that jump up in the night.
- Jill Pertler's column appears Thursdays in the Times. She can be reached at pertmn@qwest.net.
