Thunderstorms

There is a peculiar aspect of thunderstorms that is way beyond science that only poets understand. In addition to being a force of nature thunderstorms are organic, in a very special way. Most living things are the offspring of male and female -- -- a thunderstorm is alive and it's one part male and one part female. Not the offspring of male and female but what makes thunderstorms special is they retain distinct male and female characters.

When a thunderstorm is distant there is a lag between the lightning and thunder. You can tell it's approaching when the lag gets smaller -- -- as it leaves the lag grows.

Being organic each thunderstorm has a distinct personality and character  -- even the lag is distinctive. This is the story of one very special thunderstorm.

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As she approached the brilliance of her lightning served a harkening and you could hear the rumbling boom chasing behind.

The darkening of the sky had a haunting holy effect, as if to create a cathedral ceiling over a mystical religious passage.

The brilliance of her lightning led, signaling an ascension connecting earth with heavens. the booming male thunder was closing in awkwardly, trying to catch up with the ceremony.

And then they met as male and female rarely do, crackling combustion, a nuclear fusion of Venus and Mars putting on a lightning show with bright colors and dark dancing clouds, with ringing sheets of rain like symbols in an orchestra, with sonic booms from the male's base drum.

Scientists think thunderstorms are formed by differentials in the atmosphere and Earth's temperature. Poets know much better --- thunderstorms get their energy and full fury at those rare moments when male and female are in harmony. It’s a heavenly celebration and symphony of the joining of the sexes -- -- it's nature's Fourth of July.

The celebration fills all the senses ---- magnificent female lightning to see, booming thunder of the male Eros to hear, the baptismal massaging rain to feel. The singed air incense to smell.

The celebration also more importantly speaks to the spirit --- it’s to be revered, it is to be feared, it demands witness, it exacts homage. within a cloud Cathedral ceiling to receive our respects.

And then thunderstorms move on -- -- but not in this story of our special thunderstorm. The male thunder lost his ephemeral nerve and planted himself on a farm. And could only watch as his lightening soul mate moved on.

Poets know this story and get impatient with scientists fascination with this particular thunderstorm that's all lightning with no boom, known as the thunderstorm with a one handed clap. The poets also can explain the haunted farm where the fields speak in a soft lonely boom.

Poets also know the fields in the farm rest with a certain fulfillment and peace. Minutes after the resident boom saw his lightning's last sheflash there appeared a brilliant rainbow with all the spectrum's colors. Mrs. Lightning and Mr. Boom shared a certain synesthesia that encoded the letters of a message in the rings of color of the rainbow ----- which said ' I love you'

Thomas J McCabe, February 2010