Sum­mer storms a de­light

Midwest Times - - NEWS - Rae­lene Hall

I’ve been try­ing to think of ex­cuses to spend the sum­mer months in Perth, away from the heat, but Mother Na­ture has foiled me by send­ing us some cooler days.

When the day rolls around that we leave here and move to the city there are nu­mer­ous things I won’t miss — the stink­ing heat of sum­mer be­ing one of them.

I also won’t miss the fly­ing ants af­ter the rain, the frogs and their rau­cous cho­rus from the toi­let cis­tern, dust storms and droughts.

I know there is one thing I will miss though, even though it oc­curs dur­ing sum­mer, and that is our awe­some thun­der­storms.

Yes, I do know they have thun­der­storms in the city but they won’t be the same.

Up here you watch them from go to whoa. Firstly, the clouds build­ing up which I re­fer to as “thun­der­heads”. I vaguely re­call read­ing about them in My Friend Flicka as a child, so no doubt it’s an Amer­i­can word, but it suits them.

They start far off in the dis­tance and could be in any di­rec­tion. At first they look white and fluffy, but as the clouds build they darken and be­come more promis­ing.

The thun­der rum­bles way off in the dis­tance and we all watch, try­ing to work out how far off it is and which way it’s head­ing.

Some­times they tor­ment us, with their rum­bling and light­ning flashes far off in the dis­tance, look­ing like they are head­ing our way be­fore mak­ing off in a com­pletely dif­fer­ent di­rec­tion.

That isn’t al­ways a bad thing as there may be rain in them be­ing dropped some­where else on the prop­erty.

For me, though, it’s about the ones that come right over the homestead, with thun­der that can make you change your undies and light­ning that frus­trates my am­a­teur pho­tog­ra­phy skills.

There is some­thing so alive about be­ing in the midst of a thun­der­storm.

I know it can be dan­ger­ous, but some risks you just have to take.

The ul­ti­mate out­come is when the first spots of rain fall and you look out to see the sheets of wa­ter head­ing to­wards you.

A mad rush en­sues to close doors and win­dows and put away items we don’t want get­ting wet.

Then you stand and smell the air, the rain, the fresh­ness and revel in the life-giv­ing manna fall­ing from the sky.

Pic­ture: Rae­lene Hall

A stormy sky at Neds Creek Sta­tion, via Meekatharra.

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