Deep rumbles that shake the windows on a dark, dark night. When that lightning cracks it’s like God taking a photo of the entire world. One single snapshot. I feel the thunder in my throat when it sounds and start counting up, attempting to determine the distance of the storm. I feel giddy and childish. I feel like I’m getting away with something when I’m stuck inside during a bad, dangerous storm. The street will flood and spill over onto the lawn. Thunder. God’s clapping hands, roaring boomy voice. It rolls and will catch us off guard. Scare us. Make us clutch the covers a little tighter, make us jump and check the door. Unseen, the power of unseen sound. How it travels. The competition between itself and light. One of the many sounds of the human experience. A hand clutched in a cornfield I have never known. Looking into the eyes of someone I’ve never met, smiling as clouds roll in and over us at some nondescript Midwest location like Iowa. And we gaze at each other like that and hold our hands close to each other. Bringing on the darkness and waiting to be consumed by Nature, by lust, by rain, by humidity. And we stand there still, soaked as the Thunder.