With all the tropical heat we get here comes something inevitable; something I grew up loving in South Africa and something I missed in Ireland.
T h u n d e r s t o r m s . . !
Over the course of a week or so the humidity builds and builds until one day the sky turns purple grey. You can feel the charge in the air, like a ghost breathing static on your skin. When at last the clouds can’t take the pressure any longer they seem to explode, the casualties of their celestial battle falling to the earth in the form of torrential rain and hail. Long past sunset, lightning turns night into day, forking to the ground, indiscriminate in taking down power lines, trees, houses or anything else it chooses in terrifying displays of surround sound, while sheet-lightning simultaneously streaks across the sky like the flash from God’s camera.
I really get a kick of these storms. We had one a couple of weeks back and I went outside on our little back porch with my camera to do my best. I confess, I was crouched most of the time – we were right in the middle of it, the thunder and lightning cracking all around and I saw an eerie green glow light up the horizon over the rooftops maybe a few kilometers away where something got hit. Discretion being the better part of valour, I figured I’d be less of a target if I made myself as short as possible!
I got a tad drenched from the water bouncing up on me off the grass as it hit, but rather that than get fried by a million volts of electricity, eh?!