Nothing delights my senses more than an afternoon summer storm in my beloved Blue Ridge Mountains! Announced by thunder, the fat drops plop on the metal roof of our porch and produce a rhythm of the wild. Pine trees blow the wind around and drench the mossy floor of our back yard. Flowers in our garden bow in reverence to the power of the summer storm, even as their roots welcome the deluge. As the sky closes once more, shafts of sunlight split through the trees and steam rises off the pavement of our street. Wildness and civilization create a mist that witnesses to the miracle of what just took place. In the low places, streams form to course to lower ground, leaving a few puddles of remembrance behind them.
Can anything compare to a summer rainstorm in the mountains? Only a rainbow glimpsed through the forest ceiling. Thank you, Mother Nature! You feed my soul.