I'm not sure if this is a disclaimer, or an excuse, or what. But, I've never been a writer that ever wrote about nature, or even used nature as some sort of metaphorical device. I suppose I left that to the Frosts, Thoreaus, and Emersons of the world. What I do know is that this comes out of a conversation I had about thunder storms. Being a fan of them and such. I also know that the way she spoke her side of the conversation, the muse to be mentioned later issued me a challenge. Well, the challenge was accepted, and I think she knew it when she put it down.
Thunder Storms and Thoughts on Changing Opinions Regarding Said Storms Sparked by a Beautiful Muse
When I was a little I was deathly afraid.
Thunder storms spelled certain doom.
Like an impending dentist appointment,
Dark skies made me tense.
Slightest of rumbles sent me into hiding.
I was a fugitive.
It didn't matter how far away the sound was
That rumble meant that I was on the run to home
Or if I couldn't get there...
If I couldn't get there I lost my mind.
I resorted to locking myself in ma's car too.
So I never stuck around to see the lights.
These fears, they're sort of like tastes though
As you go, they might change
At some point in time, it's worth trying again
I don't know when it happened, but it did.
What stayed is that child like look out.
Finding that fear and awe run with each other.
Then there was this one summer,
Literally the most electric summer I can remember.
If I said every day was accented with lightning,
I wouldn't be exaggerating.
Not much anyway.
But, that summer...
Seeing lightning strike more times than countable.
Hearing that sound it makes.
The current's sonic signature.
Seeing something so fast the mere glimpse of it is on its way home,
The crash and boom like a thief that announces his presence to say,
"I'm here, now I'm gone, and there's not a damn thing you can do about it."
To the roots of that word
It's all there, lightning and thunder make awe.
In that awe I feel small.
I feel small in all great ways.
Small for every right reason I can muster.
Beyond the science of ozone gasses and electricity,
I've come to see thunder storms as a path to be humble.
As a way to find humility.
The surgical precision of a single bolt.
The reaching grip of finger like chains.
As some look like veins carrying blood.
All coming with massive strength.
Culminating in what beauty really is:
A marriage of grace and raw power.
With time, my view of thunder storms has changed.
From fear, admiration is born.
And I'm starstruck every time I see one.
The view goes...
Fear makes admiration,
Admiration makes respect,
Respect makes fear.
All taking the form of lightning itself.
Strokes and return strokes.
Electric currents to remind me to be human.
A New Post
2 years ago