There have been severe thunderstorms the past four nights. Tonight, they seemed to have passed by 10 p.m., but there was one giant thunderhead lingering over Lake Michigan in the direction of Indiana. For 15 minutes, flashes would light up the sky from behind it, and every fifth or so flash, lightning bolts would shoot out from it parallel to the water’s surface. A few rare and particularly frightening bolts shot straight down — woe to any sailors in their path.
It reminded me of watching a thunderstorm below from a plane. For 20 minutes I could see a monstrous thunderhead battling itself, flashing from within without break as though the gods were having a bitter dispute. It still had not finished by the time the plane had pulled so far away I could no longer see it. Perhaps these arguments never end; they simply move from place to place.
And while I was observing the thundercloud tonight, I saw two gulls wheeling in the sky over the shore. Did they confuse the flashes for daylight?
I love storms. And the colours of the next soft sunrise — like the gods’ afterglow from making love in the early morning after the night’s thunderous dispute.