I'm on a mission.
When I was young, and living in central Florida, I used to play in the rain. Of course, we all used to play in the rain when we were young, but there may be a difference here. We all didn't live in Florida when we were young. If you have lived in Florida, especially central Florida, you know the difference I am talking about.
Every day, around 3pm, huge thunderhead clouds would barrel across our neighborhood, stirred up from a blisteringly hot day. The perfect blue sky would be overtaken by juggernauts of pitch black. Torrents of rain and violent lightning would pound our surroundings for about 30 minutes. And we would run outside to play in it.
Corby and Vincent Wimmer and I went to the water retention area behind my house to see this display one summer afternoon. During particularly fierce storms, all the water from the neighborhood would flood into this previously dry pond through one two-foot pipe. It was a spectacular sight and a spectacular sound.
We ran and rode our bikes, throwing objects into the streams to become boats, watching the asphalt bubble from the sudden change in temperature and the water collect down storm drains. Lightning was intense yet sparce enough so we wouldn't jump every crack. Gallons and gallons of water flew into the pond as we celebrated the malevolence around us.
Just then, a clap of thunder seemed to precede a brilliant flash of light. I was looking directly at the tree that had just been struck not 40 yards from where we were standing.
It should have exploded, it might as well have exploded because the world has just exploded to the three of us.
But the tree was fine. And so were we. And the rain continued to bombard our day.
We stoped and were silent as the rain poured and the water roared and we were still looking up at the battleship skies attempting to torment us back to our dry houses. I remember not being afraid, but thinking I should be.
Oh yeah, I'm on a mission.
When I was young, and living in central Florida, I used to play in the rain. Of course, we all used to play in the rain when we were young, but there may be a difference here. We all didn't live in Florida when we were young. If you have lived in Florida, especially central Florida, you know the difference I am talking about.
Every day, around 3pm, huge thunderhead clouds would barrel across our neighborhood, stirred up from a blisteringly hot day. The perfect blue sky would be overtaken by juggernauts of pitch black. Torrents of rain and violent lightning would pound our surroundings for about 30 minutes. And we would run outside to play in it.
Corby and Vincent Wimmer and I went to the water retention area behind my house to see this display one summer afternoon. During particularly fierce storms, all the water from the neighborhood would flood into this previously dry pond through one two-foot pipe. It was a spectacular sight and a spectacular sound.
We ran and rode our bikes, throwing objects into the streams to become boats, watching the asphalt bubble from the sudden change in temperature and the water collect down storm drains. Lightning was intense yet sparce enough so we wouldn't jump every crack. Gallons and gallons of water flew into the pond as we celebrated the malevolence around us.
Just then, a clap of thunder seemed to precede a brilliant flash of light. I was looking directly at the tree that had just been struck not 40 yards from where we were standing.
It should have exploded, it might as well have exploded because the world has just exploded to the three of us.
But the tree was fine. And so were we. And the rain continued to bombard our day.
We stoped and were silent as the rain poured and the water roared and we were still looking up at the battleship skies attempting to torment us back to our dry houses. I remember not being afraid, but thinking I should be.
Oh yeah, I'm on a mission.