I've always loved a good storm. Watching the clouds roll in, building in types and colors. Rolling, puffy, low lying, white, blue grey, green. Storms are exciting and frightening, awesome and dangerous. I could feel the tension and excitement and anxiety build in me, as I watched the sky for changes.
Heat lightening, that's what we used to call the lightening you can see far off, in and through the layers of dark clouds. I could watch it for such a long time. Huge bolts of lightening that cut through the sky and down to the earth. I know those bolts have got to hit somewhere.
I would get the kids all excited too, and we would stand outside on the deck watching until it got too close and we would be forced indoors.
But now I get a sick feeling in my stomach when a storm is approaching, all because of a crazy collie named Annie Belle. She's getting much better at predicting an approaching storm, although she controls herself pretty well, as soon as the first crack of thunder sounds, she is running in circles, panting and drooling. Right now as I'm typing this, I am kneeling on the floor and she is lying on my ankles. I suppose I could just get up, but what the heck, if it makes her feel better, I'll put up with a little discomfort for a while.
We give her 'calm tabs', with valerian root, ginger, chamomile, but it only works so well.
Needless to say, the thrill I once felt for a good storm has been replaced by dread. Ah well, it could be worse I suppose.