Rough Book

There is a thunderstorm brewing outside. One of the many we’ve had over the past couple of weeks. Thunderstorms in Arizona are quite simply, amazing. Dark clouds roil in the sky. They look like herds of elephants. If you look hard enough, you can even see some of them. A trunk here… a tusk there… I would go and stand outside, except that the wind stirs up a significant amount of dust, and I really don’t want to breathe that in.

When the rain finally does come down, it kicks up the dry dust. Then the desert air is suffused with the gorgeous scent of rain-on-dry-earth. Electric fingers reach down from the sky followed by rumbling thunder. The world is lit up in an eerie white light, throwing things into sharp relief, as if the lightning was the world’s biggest camera flash, and the heavens were taking pictures of the inhabitants down below.

The sight is awe inspiring. No wonder our ancestors thought that divine hands were behind them. It makes me feel so small and insignificant. Human beings are the most successful, and the most arrogant species on this planet. We can still be humbled by Mother Nature’s whims and fancies.