Sometimes I wonder if lightning was invented purely for my entertainment. I know that's ridiculously self-centered, but as I sat in my car in a never-ending line to pick up my brother last night, I couldn't help but think that I was the only one in the world staring out of my windshield as the streaks danced across the sky.
It was eerily quiet. Even the traffic seemed reverent, muted. All the cars were anticipating the storm to come, waiting for something bigger than themselves.
The radio seemed like a foreign thing, an after-thought, a disturbance. I turned it down and listened to the cracking of each bolt as it raced to the ground. The sound is so loud and powerful, you think us tiny humans would be terrified, but we simply go about our business while the storm rages around us. I felt so isolated within the manufactured capsule of my car, the blue and purple world outside draping over it but unable to seep in. Though I was surrounded by people, bumper to bumper, I felt blissfully alone.
I love thunderstorms. I think it's the feeling of being safe while everything is chaotic outside. There's nothing better than sitting in a warm, comfy bed while sideways rain beats against my window and lightning illuminates the dark room, for a split second making it seem like the middle of the afternoon, with a book and a clipped on light on my lap. It's such a counter-intuitive comfort. Sheer perfection.
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