They'd
wake me up in the night growing up in
Kansas...they have a manner all their own because there is nothing to stop them here.
The
wind would whip up and tap on my
bedroom windows like an announcement...an invitation. Then the rumbling of
thunder, the blinding shock of
lightning, and the
melding of the two as the
storm got closer until they were one. I'd pad down the hall in my
nightdress, praying my mother wouldn't
detect me, which she almost always did. On occasion, however, I'd
slip under her sensors and out the door...
hovering under the porch. My heart would
quicken - the smell of
ozone making me draw a
deep breath - and in my
gooseflesh I'd delight in the
rage and
chaos of the storm. I would fantasize that I was all alone, braving the elements...
I am
Karana fighting the
devilfish from the
Island of the Blue Dolphins - I am
Tenar struggling in the darkness from the
Tombs of Atuan - I am
Pipi Longstocking at
sea! I am brave! I am fierce!
Nothing scares me...the waist-length
tendrils of my stick-straight hair
swarm around my face like the
Gorgon...I can turn men to stone.
I am
electrified. My bones reverberate with a new
timbre.
When it passes, I sneak back inside,
exhausted and strangely calmed.
Is is any
wonder I find storms incredibly
erotic?