I love a good thunderstorm. Growing up in Savannah, thunderstorms were a near daily occurrence in the summertime, and I always loved the sound of rain on the roof and windows, the play of light across the marsh, the dim lights in my house, the low rumbles interspersed with giant roars of thunder. Insanely as a kid I'd get a thrill from running around in the yard barefoot as they raged, until my mother would yell my first and middle names at me, telling me to get inside or else. Then I'd go take a quick hot bath, put on warm, dry clothes, and sit by the glass doors in the back or lie sprawled on my bed, watching, listening, thinking, savoring. To this day I can sometimes think of nothing more satisfying than getting in bed, opening the blinds, and listening to the rain on the glass and the wind in the trees.
Unfortunately there aren't as many thunderstorms in New York City, and most days that's probably a good thing given concrete's propensity to make it rain both up and down simultaneously. But tonight--tonight there is thunder, and rain, and wind. Now that I've taken off my soaked clothes and put on soft flannel pants and I've gotten in my bed, I feel...I suppose I just feel happy to be alive, and warm, and listening to the rain. This quiet moment alone has value beyond measure, and I am thankful for it, and for all the others I have left.
