Early evening yesterday a stupendous thunderstorm hit our area with much lightening, thunder, buckets of rain, and generally all the drama of grand opera. I was in a small cottage with other chorus members trying to rehearse when it hit. I felt frightened and vulnerable, and trapped. There were windows all around and the floor was vibrating. I used to live in Colorado, but it's been a long time, and my nerves were not prepared. Then I drove a chorus member home, and accidentally ended up on the freeway, whereupon I promptly hit a wall of water in my lane. Thankfully, the car plowed through, but I knew I had no control. Powerless. Another little reminder.
Then it cleared up, we went to a nearby cafe for dinner, and I calmed down. Okay, I had one glass of prosecco, which helped. It was cosy and warm in the restaurant, I was surrounded by other people, and life went on. Except that shakiness has lingered a bit. My body is on a a high alert. I can feel it.
We're about to take a trip to our daughter's house for Thanksgiving, and there may be rain and snow, and though I don't have to be body searched, it is a lot of driving and unknowns. Somehow last night made the risk palpable, and I am reminded to be careful and aware on our trip. I can see why ancient peoples saw such storms as signs from the gods. Without strong shelter, electricity and news, the whole experience would have symbolized something vast. Maybe it still does. I know the earth is suffering from our abuse of the planet, and such fierce weather is likely to become more the norm. It's almost as if Mother Nature is very, very angry.
And when she is, we are still often helpless. We can turn on the weather, but we can't shut it off.
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