you are my ears.
lately, the drought-like weather makes me crave thunderstorms. and the air-conditioning in the house just makes me feel more distant from nature, from hearing its powerful call that comes out in so many forms, if only we're ready to listen for it.
a week or two ago i was reading ms. lahiri's words on the porch, barefoot, at night, while it started to rain. the droplets sprinkled and bounced off of my back as i leaned toward the railing in the white plastic patio chair. it was just nice, in other words.
and then when the crackling thunder came, i felt indulged. i step clearly away from god in all my efforts and ways of looking at the world, yet instead of thinking god's angels are bowling up above, i just consider that my mother is howling at us. not that it's a bad thing either. it's all about how you interpret it. i talk to the thunder. i tell her i love her and that i hear her and that i miss her. i feel closer to her when it storms.
there are far too many nights in my life without her. she reminds me of innocence, of good that is not perfect, but good that invests itself in good without wanting anything in return. ever since she died, i have felt increasingly attached to nature in terms of her. and i was probably meant to, considering my previous beliefs. this just ingrained my 'faith' in plants and rocks and all that science i never understood...all the more.
the plants i tend daily, for a paycheck, need the storms. i need the storms. i need to hear them, and i need to feel them. it's about necessity, and this world strays from it far too much, but certainly for a reason. it teaches me to go all those days without, and to respond as an addict when the storms do indeed hit. strike. this august, she will be 62. we were both born in fives (1945 / 1985), so our ages always matched up by the second digit. i need a thunderstorm. several. what their plurality offers.