A storm was coming and the wind outside was blowing the clouds across the moon. The last storm, took the lights out and we sat in the basement with candles playing cards. I miss the rain, and equally, the lightening and thunder. When a good downpour (do we even use that expression in California?) comes to the Midwest, every living thing feels it, knows it. It changes plans and stops traffic – have you ever used an overpass as shelter? People run for cover as not to mess up their hair or clothes. Children delight in it. I remember laying in the grass when the sky opened up on me. But it was also agony, waiting until the rain passed so my sister and I could go puddling. Puddling is walking along the curb in the street barefoot against the rushing water passing to the storm drain. Couples snuggle in doorways as the sheets of rain blanket them with privacy. I want to see the lightening, counting seconds until the thunder comes. Hide under covers to muffle the crack of the boom. I remember my mother pulling me from a bath saying that lightening was coming and it wasn’t safe. How do children learn that light travels faster than sound by counting the seconds between the lightening and thunder to determine the distance of the storm? How do they know that water is a conductor of electricity. For me it was early education. I miss the rain.
