Tampa Bay is the #1 spot in the nation for lightning strikes. Funny, then, that St. Pete is called the Sunshine City in this Sunshine State of ours.
Last night I was up later than usual, having put my ATBAB cd on and became fixated on "Hospital Flowers" as my lullaby. During the song I'd half fall asleep, but my ears always woke me up to restart it once it ended. Eventually I simply shut it off and tried to let sleep linger in by itself. But alas, the bright blue flashes of light coming through my thin curtains chased away any slumber coming my way.
At first, there was no thunder. It was quite plainly just random sequences of flashing lights, no noise, no percussion to accompany them. I watched for what must have been half an hour before I heard anything. But when that familiar, rumblingtumbling, sonorous thunder finally made its debut, nothing in the world sounded sweeter. Powerful and graceful, terrifying and exhilarating, thunder is a blessing only God can create.
A crazy, stupid, idiotic urge hits me during my warm Floridian storms. I want to run out to my car, drive through the deserted and flooding streets, and stop when I hit the Gulf. (This is when it gets really unintelligent)
I would run onto the beach, stop only when I was knee deep in the water, and stand there for a minute. My hair and clothes would be soaked, but the warm rain and sea would soothe my tired heart. The lightning would shoot down to the ocean and the thunder would shake my very being. That salty sea air would mix with the mist from the rain and taste sweet. The foamy waves would crash just offshore, the suds coming to gather around my knees. I'd have to squint through the rain, but the sight of the dark, swirling clouds would be beautifully clear.
I would feel so small, so tiny, so awed.
I would feel so happy.