Two days ago, it rained from 5a and didn’t stop until 3a the following morning. EXCEPT! – for the brief hour around 5p, when the sun came out long enough to snap two pictures of the rainbow it spread across the eastern horizon.
Not knowing it was going to storm – and I mean STORM – again, I decided to take a Real Walk an hour later, up around the loop. With some innate sense of foresight (though the sense did NOT warn me of my impending near-doom), I grabbed my raincoat from the back of the couch, filled my pockets with a hat and gloves, donned my headphones, and trotted off up the gravel, blissfully unaware of the dark, heavy, solid mass of the Nothing looming up behind me.
It was only when I was about a mile from home that I heard a great “boom!” and realized that it did not come from the tiny speakers in my ears. Then, like in a movie, I turned around to face it: AAAAANNNNGGGGRRRYYYY SSSSSSTTTTTOOOOOORRRRRRMMM. Another great clap was followed instantaneously by a bolt of lightning that lit up the entire landscape around me. I saw clearly where I was – about a quarter-mile from a friend’s house, standing near a line of telephone poles.
I calmly folded up my headphones and put them in my waterproof pocket, taking a second to think about what to do. All at once, I smelled ozone, the little “warning! warning!” hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and with another explosive thundering, I began to sprint. As I made my frightened dash, I realized a few crucial things: a) I had probably two minutes to get to my friend’s house before being struck by lightning, unless I got struck by lightning before the two minutes was up, b) I forgot my headlamp, and had a quarter-mile of ankle-breaking, rutted, and muddy dirt road to rush up in the dark, and c) my friend did not have his light on, and so was not home, the realization of which pretty thoroughly upended all the plans of refuge, safety, and living that I had made a second before.
With nothing else to do, I kept running and jumping (only slipping and sloshing a few dozen times), my thoughts moving just as quickly as my legs. “I wonder if the dogs are out – I hope they know it’s me and don’t attack me – I wonder if the porch is unlocked? – That would be great – I really hope the porch is unlocked – If the porch isn’t unlocked, I guess I could go around to the dogs’ area in the back? – Unless the dogs attack me, and then I guess I won’t go there – I could wedge myself between the garage and the porch? – Or the antenna will be struck by lightning, and I will be right under it – I hope the porch is unlocked . . .”
The dogs met me at the gate, knew it was me (!), did not maul me, licked my hands, and ran with me up to the house. I grasped at the porch door, and wonder of wonders, it opened! Both dogs and I tumbled up the steps and through, and not a second later, the entire sky belched and screamed, rain poured down, lightning flashed, wind blew, chimes clanged, apocalypse ensued, etc. etc. – it was intense.
Even on the screened and enclosed porch, it was scary, and the dogs whined and pawed at me because they were afraid, too. Eventually, everything but the pitter-patter rain subsided, friend came home (surprise!), we had tea under the dripping roof, and I hitched a ride home.
The hat and gloves came in handy sitting in the windy wet, but next time, it would be nice if my foresight – or even just my regular sight – gave me a clue.
Be well. Be safe out there! – SAWK
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