Enter Fall with Lightning

On the first night of fall we lay in the grass to watch the sky.

The grass is short and rough, scratching at our bare shoulders and legs and arms. The ground is hard and dry, waiting for rain or for the maintenance department to drag out a sprinkler. We lay back, hands supporting heads and keeping hair from collecting dirt. We close our eyes at first. The season for cicadas' buzz has ended, but there is the ubiquitous chriping of the crickets and the distinct clacking of some other insect. There is the hum of buildings, constant and barely noticeable. There is the occasional rushing of cars on the road. And far-off, low and infrequent, the murmur of thunder.

Opening our eyes, the full moon is high above, shining hazily through the thick atmosphere. Clouds scuttle across it and sometimes blot it out for a moment, but always there is a brightening of even the darkest clouds wherever the moon travels. The eastern horizon is thick with piles of clouds, but a few brave stars peek through above us. On the horizon, the lightning jumps between the clouds, throwing the whole conglomeration into relief. Sometimes it is mood lighting and sometimes it is a jagged beam of light revealing every edge of the clouds.

For a long time we watch the lightning clouds move slowly eastward and thin clouds come and go across the moon. Another cloud bank, this one thick and dark, comes into view from the west. It is a solid mass of darkness, carrying a little rain. It claws its way across the sky, reaching for the moon and consuming it with a sprinkle of rain. The lightning is high, but now above us in sharp bolts splitting the sky. The thunder rumbles along a moment later with a crack and grumble that shakes our bones.

With the start of the rain, we pick ourselves up and move across the green to the safety of our porch. It barely lasts five minutes. We open the windows of our rooms to catch the cool, humid air and wash out the stagnant air from the air conditioning. We sit on the porch bench, in our windowsills, or we pull up chairs to sit by the windows, and resume the activity of sky-watching.

The lighting clouds move southeast, revealing the moon again and some high stars, now shining clear and bright white. The procession of clouds is a slow one and for over and hour we watch bolts of lightning cut the sky in such rapid succession that with every blink it seems we have missed one. There is no longer any thunder, for the lightning is too far away. All we hear now are the crickets and the hum of the refrigerator.