See those storm clouds rolling in.
Jul. 8th, 2021 11:18 pmThe utter wreck this afternoon caused is almost beyond what I can understand. The morning started with sun, a few drops came down when I was out around 1:15, and around 3:15, it started coming down. And down. And down. Thursday is always Thor's, and today it was his in a big, scary way.
I've never heard thunder like that. Never seen lightning like that. I honestly can't remember if I've ever seen rain like that. Sudden and hard downpours, yes, but this was so much more than a downpour. I stopped everything I was doing, took off my headphones, and stood at the window to watch and stare at it come down in abject wonder.
The subways are flooded. I don't know how many cars were wrecked by falling branches or what the state of the biking paths is going to be tomorrow. There's no telling how long it's going to be until the roads are cleared enough for regular traffic patterns to resume, and with them, the supply chains that bring the strawberries and eggs both to the grocery stores and farmer's markets. I'm running the AC right now and the humidity is high enough it's not doing all that much, so I might as well just switch over to the fan to get white noise.
And still: the rain. I kept thinking, "I didn't know the rain could do that." I kept staring in awe, in fascination, at the power of the water and its relentlessness. It stayed strong, it stayed loud, and it stayed, which might have been the most fascinating thing about it. That I could just stand there and keep watching and watching. Because it had come in and wasn't going away. The clouds were all one and the same, all of them there to carry water, all of them roiling and flashing, one single cloud covering the sky. The only way I could tell things were changing was how long it was between the lightning and thunder, where it began with no time between them at all, and then a bare set of seconds, and then it finally started fading off and moving on. And then the sun hit the side of the building, and I looked at the colors it brought with it, and took a moment to hope that people who grew up with rain anything close to this know how to look on it with the wonder it's earned.
I've never heard thunder like that. Never seen lightning like that. I honestly can't remember if I've ever seen rain like that. Sudden and hard downpours, yes, but this was so much more than a downpour. I stopped everything I was doing, took off my headphones, and stood at the window to watch and stare at it come down in abject wonder.
The subways are flooded. I don't know how many cars were wrecked by falling branches or what the state of the biking paths is going to be tomorrow. There's no telling how long it's going to be until the roads are cleared enough for regular traffic patterns to resume, and with them, the supply chains that bring the strawberries and eggs both to the grocery stores and farmer's markets. I'm running the AC right now and the humidity is high enough it's not doing all that much, so I might as well just switch over to the fan to get white noise.
And still: the rain. I kept thinking, "I didn't know the rain could do that." I kept staring in awe, in fascination, at the power of the water and its relentlessness. It stayed strong, it stayed loud, and it stayed, which might have been the most fascinating thing about it. That I could just stand there and keep watching and watching. Because it had come in and wasn't going away. The clouds were all one and the same, all of them there to carry water, all of them roiling and flashing, one single cloud covering the sky. The only way I could tell things were changing was how long it was between the lightning and thunder, where it began with no time between them at all, and then a bare set of seconds, and then it finally started fading off and moving on. And then the sun hit the side of the building, and I looked at the colors it brought with it, and took a moment to hope that people who grew up with rain anything close to this know how to look on it with the wonder it's earned.
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