summer storm

I just love the way a summer thunderstorm rolls in and takes over.

A distant rolling rumble made the dog's ears go into full alert. He came frantically running into my bedroom and looked at me with urgent stare.

"Human! Intruders! I will protect you... if I can hide under your legs?"

Then the air was still. My window fan was pulling in the pre-storm musty smell of warm humidity. I could smell the storm coming, the way you can smell the garlic simmering in olive oil and anticipate the entire meal. The pup whimpered at my feet; I scratched his big doppler ears and reassured him. He thanked me by slobbering on my big toes.

The TV lulled me into a state of near-coma, until the storm arrived with gusto. A single clap of thunder overhead sent both myself and the dog running - him to my parents' room and me to the window. The rain came in sheets, almost immediately running from the eaves like Yosemite waterfalls.

This is my favorite part of a summer storm - when the cold rain hits the hot asphalt and the resulting steam clings to the ground like a morning mist.

A summer storm is a cleansing. It blusters in and rushes out, leaving a fresh world behind. But it does the same for me. I never quite feel the same after a summer storm. The steam rising from the street carries all of my stress and worries away with it.