Panhandle Summertime

Its dusk, and a storm is coming in.
I've heard the thunder coming. Rolling in for about an hour, intermittent sound muffled and distant. Now the dark cloud is overhead and lightning flashes are closer. Breezes rush through the tops of the trees, sounding like the ocean.

Lightning illuminates the cloudbank. Each white ripple and contour highlighted at a point in time. Then dark again, returning to indiscriminate gray.

Another flash, the clouds glow pink for an instant. Giant ships towering into the sky, sailing across miles of flatland.

Now, lightning starts in one cloud, and ripples through others. For an instant the whole northeastern portion of the sky is blinding white, along the horizon, just beyond the trees.

Suddenly, a bolt not hidden by clouds. Stark, blue-white fire arcs through the darkening night. Behind the flare, the clouds have flattened out. No longer distinct cottonball puffs, a solid gray sheet is suspended overhead.

The soundtrack for tonight has become almost a continuous rumble. Bubbling up to greater intensity, then back down again, to grumble just below the surface. As it gets later, the grumbling and growling will change. The thunder will crack and crash on the rooftops. Forcefully releasing the power of the storm that builds in the dusk.

A night on the Plains.