I woke up last night to a rumbling noise and wondered if a train was coming down the tracks into town. No, I live in Escalante, where no trains can venture. But the loud boom had the same intensity as a train's horn: it rattled the windows and my teeth. Flashes of brightness, like disjointed strobe lights, made me realized this was one crazy lightening storm. A calmness descended, then, Kaboom! The flashes and blasts were coincided. I fantasized if this was like the bombings in Baghdad. Could the lightening pierce through the window glass and strike me?
The thought of my computer being struck got me out of bed to unplug it. Rocquette, my dog, was whimpering and shaking. She found her refuge under our claw-foot bathtub as I watched the flamboyant flashes while I disabled my computer. I didn't feel any safer walking around nude, so I snuggled close to my husband in bed. The thunderstorm seemed directly over us. I cringed as the turbulence erupted inside our small bedroom. Rain pounded on the roof. Wind streaked through unknown cracks. Gradually, the thunder became fainter and the flashes more occasional. I rolled over to my side of the bed and listened to the steady pitter-patter of the rain and fell asleep.
