(no subject)
Today the trees are wet neon greens and yellows. It is the middle of the summer, but hail fell against the windshield of my car like so many tears. Hail and rain and lightening have never scared me, but the roar of thunder makes me want to curl up under my covers at home. I hate loud noises. I really don’t like loud people either; what do they have to be so loud about? Unless I’m winning the lottery or about to be attacked by some person in a dark ally, you won’t catch me speaking much louder than a whisper. Instead, when I get excited, my voice just gets higher and higher until I sound like a little mouse. I’m sure part of the reason I don’t like to be around loud people, is that I’m so quiet that I can hardly get a word in with them. This hardly seems fair considering people like that usually say very little and I feel I have so much to say.
So I’m driving home and it’s raining and I’m fine until thunder cracks like god trying to tell me something. I know it comes from the sky, but it sounds like part of the earth ripping apart. I’m on the interstate and I wonder what would happen, what the headlines in the paper would say, if the asphalt opened up and thunder roared out and cars just like mine went soaring into a giant, fresh crater. Something along the lines of, “Newly Discovered Earth-Ripping-Thunder Baffles Meteorologists.” Hundreds would die, including myself, and we would be mourned with a giant statue in front of the capital depicting thirty or so cars and semi-trucks flying into a big, bronze crater. This is what I’m thinking about as I pull into my driveway.
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I've decided that I should be happy and that I have a lot to offer. I'm not afraid anymore. Of anything. Except thunder.