By: Jennifer Richardson Holt
There is just something about being outside right before a summer storm. I have always been bewitched by those fleeting moments when the atmosphere melts from a blinding sear. How could one not love those moments when everything changes from heat and oppression to all that is cool and shadow. While I am not inherently a fan of a thunderstorm, the ever-present afternoon thunderstorm that can be found on most any given day has a unique appeal. It is one of the few redeeming qualities that the summer has to offer as far as I am concerned. The ever-occurring build-up of cloud and wind that the latter parts of a heated day give me have always struck me as magical. From childhood even until now, those short-lived moments still leave me mystified. Perhaps I love a good fantasy tale too much and that is the explanation for it. I’m not sure but whatever the cause the love has stayed. As it stands, it certainly does not seem to be going anywhere either.
Make no mistake, I am not a lover of storms. Now I am also not one of those people that panics at the sound of thunder or such. I am not particularly frightened of bad weather in general, I guess we’ll call it resignation. I have no magic wand that can change it so I like to think it best to find silver linings even on the darker clouds. One definite bright spot to a summer storm is the fact that it is relief from all that is torturous about the season. I cannot express to you the joy that overwhelms me when I see the blistering clear sky begin to fill with clouds. Around lunch time they will begin innocently enough. They are the very picture you’d see next to the word cloud in the dictionary, great flat-bottomed giants with white fluffiness billowing to unimaginable heights. If ever a cloud looked inviting it is these. They are begging for someone to snuggle up in them and experience a softness known only to the feathers of angels’ wings. As the afternoon progresses you can watch as these massive pillowy shapes transform. Those expansive flat bottoms begin to darken. They conjoin themselves in enormous conglomerations making a full bank, ever darkening. I always find it intriguing as to how you can actually watch them begin to look heavier. I don’t know what feature exactly makes them look like they are sagging, perhaps it is all psychological. But you know what’s coming. The clouds are literally bursting with it.
While watching clouds is definitely something to behold, it’s how everything else changes that I like most. Suddenly a landscape that was blindingly bright becomes shaded. Those darkening clouds change the colors of the whole world. Everything takes on cool tones as if all of the outdoors were now being seen through a blue-grey filter. Air that was previously still and abominably hot becomes fresher and begins to swirl about. The sounds of leaves blowing is the first movement of the storm symphony. The mounting breezes almost sound like rivers rushing through the canopy. These are my favorite kind of wind. They, if only for a moment, take away summer and things feel of late spring or early fall. It is still warm out but now it seems as if nature wants us to enjoy ourselves in the outdoors instead of melt into a pool of humidified lava. These were the breezes that were probably some of the absolute best settings for games of imagination in my childhood. It adds so much to imagination play involving magical powers if swirling winds can whip about your hair and clothing. And while it may not be the safest of concepts, iIf one can throw in some comfortably distant thunder the impact is downright spellbinding. To raise my staff, or in my case a cane pole, amongst gale and rumble, yes it was no less than magic.
Sadly, this enchanted era is almost always terribly short. Those huge clouds grow heavier with each passing second. I always had to watch the horizon. At some point one of the flat undersides now a shade somewhere between slate and navy would simply vanish into a blur. You could see the blur traveled in a sheet all the way to the ground. In the distance, the flood had given way. The broad fat belly had given up its deluge. When the blur arrives it’s time to listen more closely to the music of the trees. The song of air and leaf can be deceptive for it can sound very similar to the sound of rain and leaf. One always must keep their eyes as well as their ears on the forest. The song can change and sneak up on you if you are not careful.
Once the rain begin sthe enchantment ceases, for me at least. Most summer thunderstorms are very concise in their nature. You may get a short downpour or even a more theatric form of precipitation filled with lightning and gusts. No matter the type they rarely last very long. And in most cases it means that summer has battled and won it’s right to return. Then everything glistens and sparkles as the sun reappears that is about the only pleasantry left behind. The air grows still again and often even thicker. The world has become a sauna. The refreshing tints of blue and grey become hot whites with just a hint of fiery gold. This was the point for me in childhood and now, when inside is where the rest of the day will be spent. It is somewhat disappointing I suppose but there is even a silver lining once the clouds have gone. On most days I can expect a revisiting of those enchanted times. I just have to wait and watch tomorrow until the clouds get heavy and the forest begins to sing.
Prose and Possibilities 