When I was young, I misheard the lyrics of Warren Zevon's “Werewolves of London” as “Where was the thunder.” (For those of you who think you don't know this song, listen to the opening of Kid Rock's “All Summer Long.” It’s swiped from Zevon.) My brother Brad still sometimes teases me about this. But yesterday when I was on the air, I looked to the National Weather Service for a forecast update. They said that today there would be rain and freezing rain, with “some thunder...also possible.”
It got me thinking. I love thunder. I haven't feared many thunderstorms since I was a very little pup, though there have been a few that gave me pause. I remember one nighttime storm from my boyhood in particular, when I saw a huge tree in our backyard exploded by lightning. The noise was deafening, and the color of the world went all blue and orange. I think part of the tree was okay for a while, but eventually it had to go. Shame, too, because this tree was very old and big enough for a little boy to hide behind. Heck, probably a few little boys at the same time. It really was that big.
After that scary night, most thunderstorms have paled in comparison. Presuming there is no augmented threat, like a tornado, I enjoy a good thunderstorm. A bright summer sky going dark can be awesome to watch. Watching the electricity zap to the ground, and then feeling a bone-jarring rumble of thunder is hair-raising, in a good way. Can also be terrifically romantic, if you play your cards right. When the weather dudes are telling you to huddle together in your “safe place,” it can be a recipe for love. Try it sometime. Candles in case the power goes out...Bearskin rug…Wait, what?
Anyway, I'm hopeful that at the end of this day I'll have actually experienced some thunder, not be asking the question, “Where was the thunder?”