Storm

"Where I come from is a land of many islands
Two rivers run to the east and to the west
...
No matter where I've been I can't escape who I am or forget"
 - Where I Come From, by Patty Griffin 



It's a rainy spring. Everything is greener and richer after the rain. Yet, overall, it's been the stormy kind of rain; ongoing lightning, gusts of wind, even flash flooding and a couple of tornadoes. Roads have been closed, homes and businesses have flooded, and trees have been blown over.  Evidence of the rain is apparent in both the greenery and the chaos.

One evening, a storm began just as I left work. I headed south to visit a friend in the hospital, making it through abysmal traffic and a streaming parking lot to the safety of indoors. Sitting with my friend, the window showed the neighboring building's roof, where a spot light pulsed rhythmically round and round in case a star flight helicopter needed to land there. A bright orange wind sock was knocked around furiously by the wind as the rain pummeled the window. Just then, the power went out. It came back on within a couple of seconds, a brief blip of beeps and flashes. My friend and I stared at each other, the thought of, "Should we be concerned?" passing through our brains. A nurse came in to make sure things were alright, assuring us that there were back-up generators, just as we'd guessed. We settled back and continued to visit for a couple of hours, until the storm was a few degrees less wild and I braved the long drive home.

A woman on the radio commented on how all the lightning nitrogenizes the rain, creating lusher soil for the plants. I thought of that as I drove home from the hospital, lightning forking spectacularly across the sky. For a second, the dark sky would be bright. The amount of power appearing in instant streaks was terrifying and awe-inspiring. As I came around a bend, the Austin skyline appeared in front of me. It made my breath catch. My city. Waiting there for me. Steadily adding new buildings to its silhouette, both of us changing some over time to return on sunny and stormy days alike. Skyscrapers glittered in the dark as I drove across the narrow lake. I had missed the city as much as I'd missed the hill country, street names and wildflowers calling to me in different yet similarly strong ways.

The next day was sunny and clear. Deep mud and swollen rivers told the tale of the previous night's - and week's - storm, yet in every other way the weather was perfect, everything bathed anew.