There’s this amazing energy around thunderstorms, isn’t there? Today (Father’s Day in the U.S., so Happy Father’s day all you dads!) I’m out weeding the garden with my husband while he plants our summer flowers. We’re both really enjoying ourselves, enjoying having our hands in the dirt, and enjoying that build-up to the thunderstorm.
It’s electric, it’s poignant, it’s a promise of release. It’s a smell, a feel to the air, a cooling of temperature . . . the spiders in the garden seem to hide, as do the potato bugs (rolley-polleys according to my littles). Then, the thunder claps . . . and again . . . and again. Almost on top of each other, it reminds me of labor contractions, increasing in tempo and intensity, building. . . until . . . the rain starts.
The air perceptibly changes again – the promised release of energy comes and with it, a sort of reminder of the power of nature. There’s the smell of the rain washing the earth (which, if you live in the country you’ll find no sweeter smell) of all her grit. The earth moistens, the rain intensifies and I have to run to hide under our front porch. My husband and I stand there, side-by-side, watching the rain unleashed by the storm. I feel a human-ey connection with him, and revel in it.
It’s beautiful. Humbling. Powerful. Inspiring. A reminder that we are but a portion of the beauty and majesty of nature. A humbling put-you-in-your-placery (but with love), that lets you look around you and be grateful you were lucky enough to incarnate into this beautiful, intricate tapestry that is life and Earth.
I think, today, I’m grateful and humble and awed by the beauty of the energy of All That Is.
A thunderstorm is reverence, in a word.