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Steven M. Thaxton
Searchable Keywords
writer, thaxton
Specialties or Categories of Interest
writing, reading
From The Book
I've taken an unknown exit road off Interstate 55 about forty miles south of Chicago. Coming to the exit stop sign I can turn right or left, and choose to turn right and drive down about a half-mile to a small bridge overlooking several fields of corn. The hot summer wind has just a hint of a cool after-breeze to it, and looking out over the fields, the tassels of the corn are blowing in the sudden breezes. Off in the distance I hear the rumbling of thunber. Loud rumbling sounds with no pattern. Looking up to the sky I wait for more rumbling and notice small flickers of lightning.
One of the best places on earth to witness a thunder and lightning rainstorm is in the Midwest. Looking out over fields of corn blowing in the breeze prior to a thunderstorm is almost a religious experience. I could never understand people who say thunderstroms scare them. Wathching the big clouds painted by bright sunshine with bands of rain behind them, vibrant colors, majestic black shadows, the sounds and smell of nature validates your humanity.
The clouds and the breeze intensify and small raindrops hit my face. It is ealry afternoon and the clouds make the sky turn dark, like before dusk. Looking back at the freeway, several cars speeding down the lanes have turned on their headlights. This will be a storm with power and force. The raindrops are getting bigger, but still infrequent in pattern. The wind sings a low growl and is silent between the gusts. Wind brushes across my face. It's a warm breeze that feels like you are on a beach in the islands. It's refreshing and mixed with several different smells. Another gust of wind and the rain begins in earnest. First a steady rain, droplets splashing against the pavement splattering in a million directions. The hot asphalt and cement of the highway begin to ooze a steam. The rain comes hard. My head and face get wet and the top of my shirt. It feels good, and instead of running to the car, I kind of saunter. Once back inside the car, I close my eyes and just listen to the rain and thunder. The rain comes harder and harder and thunder raps harsh like a clap, over and over again. Lightning begins to crackle, first softly and then loud. It is a great storm.
Copyright 2007-2008, Steven M. Thaxton (Expires April 16, 2008)
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