One Thing Leading into Another: Memory Lane

It rained a thunderous thunder storm here last night. Rain came poring down in sheets of thick wetness and lightening brightened the sky. Storms here are timid compared to where I come from, which is only 150 miles away, but lake effect makes a huge difference. Lightening would strike my childhood backyard every summer. My best friend and I would sometimes run outside afterwards to see if we could find stones crystallized inside. Never did, but once I witnessed a tree split in half by lightening. I can still smell the air in my mind’s nose. I can still hear my older brother yell out “That was cool”.

Last night’s storm was nice though. I stood watching the storm while I traveled into memory’s reservoir of experience. I remembered the time when I ran out in this ridiculously dangerous storm with KN in college. We were crazy. We just ran as fast as we could then fell into a flooded patch of grass and laughed. I miss the days when the priority was spontaneous to do’s to do.

Then there was the time I played with some neighbor kids in this misty sprinkle on a sunny day. We were in the woods in this lot next to my house pretending to be fairies enchanting the sky.

Then there was the time I was caught in a huge scary storm with SC in a junk yard as kids. Yes, as a kid I believed “No Trepassing” Signs were only meant for adults. Who can blame curious kids using his & her imagination? We snuck in and pretended to play spies, running up and down the piles, ducking behind tire towers. Then the storm hit and we were scared shitless. We were too afraid to run under the fence that led into the woods where we came from…so we sucked up our pride and went into the junkyard office, more scared of the weather than the owner. Um, in kid world this is kind of is taboo. I mean admitting your wild and crazy indiscretions with an adult. It meant you busted yourself. In the end, the fence was fixed, but the dude never told our parents, though he did make us feel he would.

Its still raining these grey steady beads of rain, the kind that turns off the internal clock and sends me drifting in sleepy. The kind that does not spur me to do anything but go home and eat soup.