Normally the only person who might say this phrase goes by the name of Dr. Frankenstein. However, I've been wanting a good thunderstorm for the last couple of days. Luckily the weather obliged us this evening. It couldn't have happened at a better time. It didn't last more than forty minutes or so, but the thunder rolled off the mountains to our east and the rain fell from the heavens like devils cast out. It was a good storm and much needed too.
I've always enjoyed watching thunderstorms. When I couldn't get a thunderstorm I would go for a hard downpour or even just a simple rain. Many have used rain as imagery of cleansing. To me there is just something about it that is relaxing. I don't even really mind driving thought a rain storm and despite the difficulties and challenges it presents find it exhilarating.
I have found memories of sitting outside on the front porch with my older sister, each of us curled in a blanket reading our respective books as the rain poured down on the other side of the hollyhocks. I also remember coming out of a night class my freshman year of college to a sky as black as pitch and a steady and persistent rain coming down. I put by coat in my backpack, took off my socks and shoes, rolled up my jeans and walked home barefoot in the rain. I didn't dance (although I've sung a few times), but I did enjoy myself, and the hot shower when I got home. This last storm found me in the kitchen alternating between the stove preparing dinner and the screen door smelling deeply of the rain.
For our anniversary last year my wife bought me a print of a photo taken by
Tyson Chappell, a professor at the last college I worked at, who is also an accomplished photographer. The photo is titled, "God's Wrath" and hangs in my office.
Check it out here. It is a time lapse of a thunderstorm that occurred while we were living in Price, UT. We had good years in Price, but were glad to be closer to family. In addition to the friends we had made we both agreed that we would miss the thunderstorms. I remember turning a movie off for twenty minutes while I watch a lightning storm that struck south of Price. We didn't see many storms because of the geography that surrounded us, but the storms we did see were hard and fast and fierce. They had to be to get over the mountains. Kanga would often sit in a chair by a window and just watch them. Once when a particularly loud clap of thunder shook our cinder-block house she asked, "What was that?" "Thunder, Kanga." "No it's not!" she declared, "It's a dragon! I'm going to get my dragon!" She would have to if she could have gotten the door open.
Below is a poem I wrote just after completing high school that includes some of my feelings on storms. I called it "Stand Standing Still"
The man stood standing in the rain
A newspaper in his hand
And stared across the wet, wet street
Into a strange new land.
He stood there, standing for an
hour
Not moving here or there
But standing, simply standing
As rain damped his hair.
A passerby brushed past the man
And apologized the slight
But the man didn't notice the passer-by
In the darkening night.
Don’t ask me why he does stand
there
Standing in the rain
Some would say he’s bloody mad
Others, feeling pain.
But stand he does, standing there
And facing a crying sky
Holding his soaking head up high
Wishing he could fly.
The pouring rain does not let up
It’s getting harder still
And people run to open doors
And hope they don’t come ill
And yet he stands, standing there
Without a hat or coat
And many, indoors do say
He’s going to need a boat.
And when the storm does reach its
height
He spreads his long arms out
And looks straight up upon the sky
And gives a mighty shout!
“Oh storm of heaven come, I pray
And show me of your power
For I have stood here many a day
And now at last this hour
Do see thy strength, thy majesty
And dare to look you more
In country town, on mountain top
On sea and on the shore
Such power I've never witnessed
And am proud to see it now
I will never forget you, storm of hope
To thee I deepest bow!”
And with that declaration
He did lower his big hands
And without another word
Looked at distant lands
The people inside the buildings
Heard and saw him do
And said the man was on a drug,
His mind, damage done to.
But I think you know, who reads
this now
What that strange man had done
He saw a power strong enough
To blow the brilliant sun.
A new thing learned each moment
He stands there, standing still
And greets each act of nature
And bears it none of ill
And maybe, standing still
In one place, standing long
One may hear the exalted chords
Of nature’s holy song.
