On a Hill In Tennessee Shadow lines wrapped in cool breezes waver in the dimming light after the storm of '81. Lightening tapestries strobe the night - this hot summer night - filled with explosions in the sky, shaking the trailer, blasting the power lines, so out go the lights. Hallelujah! What a show!
Blinding forks of lightening shatter the ancient trees. A sun-white sword of electrical discharge splits the giant oak down by the fence, halving it vertically from top to roots.
Arcing electrical fingers reach down from above, ripping off the limbs on poplar trees, sizzling and zig-zagging toward the lake, leaving in its wake the carnage of wooden, leafy wreckage splintered and scattered on the gently sloping ground.
Awesome, vast, tremendously powerful, this brilliant storm that erupted in the skies above a hill where a little blue-and-white trailer sat, such fragile protection against so forceful a blast. A scar of scorched metal was seen on the roof of the tool shed, just yards away from the flimsy front door.
My bearded friend was frightened, so he crawled beneath his bed. I could hear him praying between the bone-rattling blasts of thunder.
Me? I stood at the window, gazing in awe at the spectacle unfolding outside. My heart raced, my eyes widened and I began to dance a nervous jig as I sang "Let it rain, let it pour, let it shine and grow some more."
Crazy? You bet. But such a display of nature is rarely seen and I was electrified - not scared - and excited like a child who's just touched a living dinosaur. The power of the storm, the storm of '81, was excellent!