July 21, 2003

The humidity is broken, or rather is in the process of breaking, by means of a lovely thunderstorm. It's evening dark outside and the rain is soakingly torrential, the way rain should be. Thunder is rippling across the sky. Lightning flashes. I love this weather.

The rain is coming down in sheets, sweeping over the garage roof. There's even the hint of a tornado warning. Flicker flicker flash. I remember last year stripped to the waist, playing Eggy with the guys over by the elementary school.

There was just one of those flashes of lightning that makes you cringe in anticipation of the thunder, and it smashes over the neighborhood.

Ernie used to hate these. He'd always hide underneath the computer table, next to the power cords for whatever reason.

Further rumbling, growing distant. From my military studies I can't help but think of artillery explosions.

Gram used to tell me that thunder was the sound of the angels bowling.

I always used to wonder if my grandfather was a good bowler.

Someone just split the sky in half, anyway. Zeus rolled a strike, is getting cheers from Apollo and Aphrodite, while Athena keeps score and Hera wonders when exactly Zeus will be home to feed the dog and maybe get the kids from soccer practice. Except all the kids are watching the Old Man bowling cause damned if he ain't all kinds of good at it.

The sky is clearing up in the west. The storm/game is almost over. My stereo and computer are both broken, which is good because it got me out onto the porch to watch the rain.

A few last desultory rumbles, and it's all over. Everything washed clean, the air clear, the sky turning light, and all things shining.