Sublime. Amazing. Absolutely breathtaking. Loved it.
Like the dreaded booming of a canon, thunder echoed up and down the little valley, awaking anyone who was not sleeping soundly.
I rolled over, blinking, like a bear after hibernation. An almost timid sunrise greeted me shyly. The real sun still hiding, the soft pink glow that warns the earth of its coming was reaching its fingers gently over the mountains. In stark contrast, the rest of the sky loomed dark, made darker by the seeming few feet of dust peach that was glowing between the rime of the rocky mountains and the edge of the angry clouds. Still, thunder rolled and boomed and echoed and yelled, screaming in its deep voice. I smiled, all to myself, and crawled from my warm covers to fling open the window in reckless behavior. (OK, I slid the window open in almost slow motion, but I liked the way that sentence rolled.)
That smell! Fresh, clean, crisp, and so cool it almost hurt when I took a deep breath. Cool raindrops now scantily touching a hot, sleepy face through the window screen, I stretched, closed my eyes, and listened. Listened very hard. It was raining hard now, pounding and splattering on the roof, as if in time with the rustling of a thousand green leaves being shaken in the mediocre wind. I tried to pay attention to every little detail I could. I let the rain the blue lightening, the dusty pink east, the spiteful thunder that rudely interrupted the flashing light display, and a dozen other sights and smells, and musical sounds fill me with little shivers and a a fast heartbeat. Who needs a movie to get excited, or a dramatic story to make a rush of emotions? A drama was playing out side my window, unrehearsed and changing with every moment that involuntarily ticked by. I looked straight up, past the water dripping quickly off our roof, and saw blue patches dancing merrily in the sky, as if to show that the storm was simply full of empty threats.
Now, it was as if there was only an inch between the craggy mountain line and those rolling, mysterious clouds. Bravely and calmly,, those weak rays then showed their strength, and sprinkled a peach haze through the rain, creating a fairy dust effect. In a composed manner, it let the booming that the sky take over, snuffing out its other worldly light. The tempest, young and to pas by won for now. The sun knew it could out another day.
Am I hopelessly in love with God's Nature? I'm afraid so. But who wouldn't be, when thinking about Gods hand directing every single one of those romantic waves of light, every single atom of those millions of raindrops, clear and clean, those incredible flashed of lighting that in, in color, matched the patches of baby blue sky, and best of all, thunder, powerful thunder, shaking the leaves of the trees that HE created? These words have simply not done it justice. But, after gazing at the ever changing art display, I grabbed a notebook, fished around for a pencil, leaned on the windowsill, and wrote.
Why? Because For some reason, I knew in my entire lifetime, I would never see anything quite like it again.
