If you’ve never seen a Midwest storm roll through, try to get that accomplished one day. That’s what these storms do — roll in and roll out.
This morning I woke to some far off vibrations. Kirby stood alert at the end of the bed looking out the window perplexed. Her big ears popped out to the side as thunder rumbled miles to the West. The pastely shades to the East began moving further and further away, as a large dark gray mass from the west rolled on their heels.
By the time I took my first drink of coffee, the wind was picking up and the vibrations were turning into crackles of thunder. The rain started to fall, little wet soldiers marching softly through leaves, while the sky turned a strange hue of gray-green. Then came the bwllowing burst of thunder, a close-up brush with electricity from a nearby lightning bolt and the soldiers increased their cadence to a frantic pace before breaking form and scattering to a loud beat of chaos.
Just as quickly as it started, though, the rain slowed. The thunder and lighting chased the pretty colors east and left birds singing. Sometimes, it’d be sunny at that point. But today, it looks like storms might roll through all day.
In Seattle, the non-summer months are characterized by constant rain. However, we’re rarely so lucky to see these phenomenons. It’s just a steady dose of low clouds, constant drizzle and a venti, quadruple shot of patience. I’ve always thought the rain depiction in Seattle was exaggerated. Of all the autumn Friday and Saturdays I spent at high school football stadiums or Husky Stadium, I can probably count on one hand the number of games that were rain-drenched. (Washington-Oregon State 2005 comes to mind!)
- Alarmed by the thunder, Kirby looks out our bedroom window. The eventual loud cracks led her right to my lap, of course.