As I write this the power has gone out for an unknown amount of time. There is silence aside from the splattering of rain on the hibiscus leaves and the cawing of strange birds. The units are quiet – we can hear every car in the distance.
According to the web, over 1200 people in our area have been affected by this unplanned outage. Aside from the warmth, I don’t mind one bit.
Everything cut out during a pretty creepy scene in Dracula (which was quite amusing, I must say) and thanks to my obsession with candles we have enough to light every room.
James is outside building a terrarium with a portable light we found at Bunnings. We hung out some washing and I did a load of dishes and now the air is very still.
Lucky we haven’t showered yet, I told James. It’s not unbearable but it is muggy. The cool of the rain is wearing off, the lightning far and rare again.
The storm is leaving us behind.
I can’t help but have a strong admiration for summer storms. There’s something so beautifully nostalgic about the whole event.
I don’t have a single negative memory attached to a storm. It was all muddy shoes and damp notebooks and matted hair back in my childhood.
Stripping off to our underwear and running around the yard for far longer than we should’ve.
Dancing in the rain and creating elaborate game scenarios that were always full of drama and tragedy.
Swimming in the pool when the water was warmer than the rain.
Laughing in the dark when the power went out, then getting uncomfortably sticky when it didn’t come back on again 15 minutes later.
Jumping in puddles formed in our yard, our legs caked with mud and bright green grass blades.
Trying to catch rain droplets in our mouths.
Seeing how fast we could ride our bikes along the slippery paths.
Getting warned to stay away from the lakes, as the crocodiles might be visiting.
Turtles turning up in strange places. Cats getting madder by the hour.
Cabin fever setting in after a week-long haul.
Nowhere is safe.
Leaving the house means returning damp at best.
Hot chocolates are made when it’s cool enough.
Extra computer time is allowed.
The deck is constantly soggy, the lounge deemed unusable until the sun returns.
Running up the stairs after an afternoon of childish fun.
Puddles turn into lakes, holes turn into oceans.
Plastic toys are bought outside (and left there) by the truckload. [“Oh, but we can’t get them now, we’ve already gotten changed!”]
There’s nothing quite like the feeling of changing into fresh, clean clothes after an afternoon in the rain.
No shower yet – it’s not bedtime! – just a cosy pair of everyday clothes, with maybe a light jumper for the chills.
Still, to this day, I stand out in the rain. Fully clothed with my glasses fogging, I twirl around and try to drink raindrops. Sometimes I play music. Sometimes I prefer Mother Nature to provide the soundtrack.
But grateful, always, and marveled that we get to witness such a mighty display of natural ferocity, time and time again. And always to be lucky enough, to rug up at the end of it.