…is currently flashing across the sky outside. Hau Wakinyan!
My spouse and I have been making fun of the storm, talking about how wussy it is, and how we should take its lunch money. I might also add that its lack of endowment will assuredly prevent it from taking a whiz on our heads, and that I’ve seen better sparks while scuffing my socks at a slumber party.
This of course, it the proper way to address a Thunder Being, especially if you live in a desert that has been under drought conditions for a few years. …I can hear Them singing. So can the dog whose name I once stole. I shoved a pill down his throat to calm him down.
The sinking air pressure, rising humidity, and low pitched rumbling draw me into a light trance state. I pray and hope for a strong monsoon this year, at this, the first real storm of the season. At least I hope this one lives up to the promise. The previous ones merely dropped dusty mud on my car. I want the windows to shake, the streets to flood, and the thunderbirds to scream with joy as they fly overhead.
But no. This is not that kind of storm. This is the kind of storm that couldn’t drip even if it had the flu in the middle of hayfever season. It’s so weak and slow that a snail could wet my backyard faster.
I remember those days when I had to get outside and walk. I couldn’t sit still at all. Every time, with my music turned up loud in my headphones, I’d see the thunder beings playing on the horizon during monsoon season. I’d nervously walk along, hoping they didn’t decide that they liked me a little too much and decide to keep me as one of theirs, even if, at the same time, I’d be honored if they did.
Welcome back, brothers!