It was one of those heavy evenings, the sky an odd hue of salmon and gray, with the promise of a storm.
When it finally hit, with forceful winds shaking the house, I was getting into my pajamas and brushing my teeth.
The wind died away, and we got into bed for the night.
Flashes of light through the blinds made the Man of the House head out onto the front porch.
He called to me from the darkness- quietly but urgently- to come out.
In bare feet and nightshirt, I stood on the warm cement watching the sky light up high among the clouds.
Watching almost constant forks of blinding lightning streak across the sky and straight down to the earth.
The flashes of light illuminating for a moment my husband, bare-chested, hands braced on the porch beam above his head, eyes intent on the sky.
The smell of ozone thick and pockets of air gently cool then at once warm and heady swirling around us.
Warm rain pelting my feet as I sat down on the steps. I laughed. It was a giddy, bursting laughter that couldn’t be contained.
Padding into the house, I awoke the kids to come out and see the storm. One was fast asleep, preparing to arise at 5 am for camp. I let her rest.
The four of us, out in the summer night, experiencing the rush of the thunder and lightning. Two of our kittens were playing in the darkness, brave things seemingly oblivious to the storm- or picking up on its energy.
That’s what it was- energy.
The night seemed alive and had been building up to it all afternoon and evening.
That life in the swirling air, lighting everything with flashes of brilliance, was intoxicating.
I felt a bolt of pure joy wash through my body.
A powerful feeling that all was right in the world.
One Sunday night experience I won’t forget.