Last week I was in Arizona and a thunderstorm rolled in just as we were leaving. I love thunderstorms and have many memories of them as a child. Lighting storms in August in AZ are spectacular.
©2008 Suzanne Lazear
A giant raindrop slashed in front of me as I got out of the car. It left a dark splatter on the otherwise dusty gray asphalt.
This one was about two feet from the other leaving a splash the side of a fifty-cent piece. It reminded me of a comment a long-forgotten teacher made about Arizona rain.
The clouds had suddenly rolled over, coving the usually bright sun. The warm air was charged with moisture and electricity. It was August in Phoenix. That meant sudden monsoon showers and spectacular thunderstorms.
We were in for one now. I couldn’t wait. God knew we could use it.
The car door closed behind me. These drips left spots on the hood. The car needed washed.
Taking a deep breath, I inhaled the air which had that special it’s going to rain smell. Ozone. It was like sweet perfume. A scent that brought back fond memories and excitement.
I raised my face to the sky just in time to see a brilliant bolt of lightning shoot across the dark clouds.
The thunder echoed just behind it rumbling like a giant with a growling tummy. The deep rumble scared a bird out of the tree behind me.
Drip, drop, drip.
The rain was coming down harder now and I kept my face raised, embracing the fat warm drops as they splattered around me, on the car, the pavement, me.
It’s what made the desert come alive.
The sky lit up again, looking almost purple as another spectacular bolt of lighting flashed thought the sky. It was close.
One, two, three…
As a child my dad and I used to sit on the back porch and watch the lightning, even if the lights didn’t go out.
Now grown, I was still enchanted by lightning storms.
The drops were still warm, fat, and lazy, but there was so many more now. The asphalt was now more wet than dry.
Now my arms were raised, even though one held a paper sack from the grocery story. That too was covered in little wet spots.
Closing my eyes, I spun around. My own private rain dance.
The front door opened.
I was still spinning, the voice on the edge of my consciousness.
My eyes fluttered open again as I stopped spinning. One bolt after another shot thought the rolling clouds. It was very close, the thunder echoing almost immediately.
Now that was spectacular. Maybe angels really did go bowling.
A familiar face peered though the screen door. “You should come inside now, that one was very close.”
Tilting my face up once more, I allowed the rain to kiss me for one more moment. I inhaled the scent of the storm one last time.
Satisfied, I took my wet self and wet bag up to the door, which opened for me. He gave me a kiss. “I made some ice tea, do you want to sit on the back porch and watch the show?”
The door closed behind me and I heard the rumble of thunder once again.
Kicking off my shoes, I smiled. “That would be great.”
There was nothing quite like August Rain.