last Saturday's storm
Aug. 30th, 2007 12:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kittenscribbleK called me from the tarmac last Saturday, telling me that I should get my stuff inside the car. His flight was being delayed and a storm was coming.
I looked out the window at blue sky and told him that there was no hurry; I'd get it done after cleaning the basement. By the time I made it upstairs, the outside light had taken on an ominous quality. I hustled and managed to shuttle most of the crap into the car, as the wind picked up and slammed the storm door open and shut. By the time I got the last load in, fat drops were starting to fall.
It was an impressive storm, full of booms and flashes. I watched it from the safety of my kitchen window. K called again, his flight still delayed. I told him he had been right about the storm. Of course, he said.
Lightning happens because storm clouds become polarized, negative charges gathering at the bottom. (At least I think this is how it happens; it's been a while since middle school.) The charge at the bottom of the cloud coaxes an opposite charge from the earth below; lightning is a result of the two reaching towards one another, touching, and discharging through the resulting channel.
Back when I lived in Virginia, alone in a three-bedroom townhouse, K came down to visit me occasionally. A storm rolled in on his heels one night and created a rolling river of rainwater down my street, currents visibly formed and pushed about by the wind. I called him over to see it, and the two of us stared out into the rain. I remember being awed by nature, and being grateful that I had someone to share it with.
K called again, to say that takeoff was imminent and that he had to put his cellphone away. I told him to have a safe flight. I stayed at the window and thought of charged particles, calling out to one another in the storm.
I looked out the window at blue sky and told him that there was no hurry; I'd get it done after cleaning the basement. By the time I made it upstairs, the outside light had taken on an ominous quality. I hustled and managed to shuttle most of the crap into the car, as the wind picked up and slammed the storm door open and shut. By the time I got the last load in, fat drops were starting to fall.
It was an impressive storm, full of booms and flashes. I watched it from the safety of my kitchen window. K called again, his flight still delayed. I told him he had been right about the storm. Of course, he said.
Lightning happens because storm clouds become polarized, negative charges gathering at the bottom. (At least I think this is how it happens; it's been a while since middle school.) The charge at the bottom of the cloud coaxes an opposite charge from the earth below; lightning is a result of the two reaching towards one another, touching, and discharging through the resulting channel.
Back when I lived in Virginia, alone in a three-bedroom townhouse, K came down to visit me occasionally. A storm rolled in on his heels one night and created a rolling river of rainwater down my street, currents visibly formed and pushed about by the wind. I called him over to see it, and the two of us stared out into the rain. I remember being awed by nature, and being grateful that I had someone to share it with.
K called again, to say that takeoff was imminent and that he had to put his cellphone away. I told him to have a safe flight. I stayed at the window and thought of charged particles, calling out to one another in the storm.
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no subject
Date: 2007-08-30 06:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-31 05:23 am (UTC)