Organic Fireworks

We stayed up to watch the fireworks last night. Not the bombs-bursting-in-air kind. The organic, native, millionbillion-volt kind. What is it about thunder and lightning storms that is so awe-inspiring? That keeps me outside watching, watching and listening?

We knew it had to rain yesterday. The heavy, unmoving storm clouds had built up over the higher elevations, created first as cathedrals of white cumulus by the warm moist air flowing in from the south and rising against the 9,000 wall of the mountains then lowering and gaining their weight of water. The monsoon season has begun, but the rains have been indifferent. If those heavy clouds didn’t unburden themselves, it would be a cruel joke.

Around 8 pm, we were on the patio. First the low rumbles and then the light began to flash behind the clouds. After awhile, we realized that the flashes were coming from the north – the other side of the house from where we were sitting. We put Nutmeg on the leash and walked up to the top of the driveway so we could watch as the lightning became more active, flashing more regularly, perhaps every 30 or 45 seconds. We made sure that we weren’t the tallest objects standing. After a few minutes, as the flashes took on visible form, bolts jagged and brilliant, we let caution send us back down the driveway and back to the patio.

The storm cells split. Some went from north toward the west-southwest. Those cells were dry, leaving nothing but ringing ears and residual retinal images. But finally the cells moving south and east released their weight of water. And so finally it rained.

When I was growing up, my godparents used to tell me that thunder was really the gods (or giants, I’m not sure) bowling. And lightening – well, that god just got a strike! Last night, there must have been two full leagues competing and the strikes just kept coming. Here in the southwest, strikes mean something else – how many lightening strikes in the forest – how many new forest fires to spot and track and fight. In preparation for the gods’ bowling league season, the US Forest Service has moved in its fire teams: Hot Shots can be seen shopping at WalMart; the Smoke Jumpers rode in the July 4 parade along with the horse teams; the big-bellied aircraft that deliver the HotShots and Jumpers to the smokes and carry the flame retardants are parked, ready, on the tarmac at the Grant Co Airport.

Finally, about 10:30 the cells moved away. Lightening could still be seen far to the east. Low rumbles of thunder still set Nutmeg off, though not as frantically. We went in to bed, closing the windows and the shutters against the storm-cooled air. And the world settled down for a good night’s rain. We woke up this morning to find it is raining still. But it’s a farmers’ rain; a female rain. It is welcome to stay for a couple of days.