blue curtain of rain

blue curtain of rain

falling to earth, deadly rays 

shooting into space

I fall asleep after reading "Deadly Rays from Clouds," a Scientific American article about how thunderstorms give out powerful blasts of gamma rays and x-rays. For weeks I have been begging for rain, so a thunderstorm would be most welcome, as long as I'm not inside the cloud. At 4:30 am, volleys of thunder wake me. At first I think I'm dreaming, but then I hear the blessed sound of rain. It's been a long, dry spell.
          All day I keep staring at the white apparitions floating in the azure sky, as if I've never seen clouds before. A huge cumulonimbus off to the east trails a curtain of blue rain on a lucky field. Distant thunder reminds me of a startling statement from that article: "Next time you see a tall thundercloud, stop to remember that it is capable of shooting high-energy particles into space that can be detected on the other side of the planet." Life-giving rain falling down, deadly rays shooting up. What a strange world we live in.

reflection of tree

reflection of tree

leaning over the flooding

creek after the storm

Another thunderstorm. More flood warnings in central and southeast Iowa. Fortunately, we do not live close to a river, and our usually tranquil Pilgrim Creek lies way at the bottom of the wooded hills. This tree has been leaning out from the bank for a long time, all of its limbs growing upward toward the light, like fingers raised in praise of the sun, doubled by their reflection in the water. With the flooding, the base of the trunk is now submerged a couple of feet under muddy water. The fast-moving current continues to erode the bank, and some day the roots of the tree will be washed free and the heavy trunk will fall across the creek. If the tree is not utterly uprooted, it will continue to grow in that fallen position, its arms still upraised, its trunk a living bridge for light-footed creatures to cross over.

arching bands of gray

arching bands of gray 

clouds moving fast from the west,

first fat drops of rain

Walking to my car after lunch, I gasp when I look up at the darkening sky in the west. Two long narrow bands of gray clouds separated by a band of white sky are moving fast in my direction. I make a dash for the nearest hill to get a better view. The upper band is smooth, with delicate striations on the bottom, while the lower band is clotted and mottled. The whole front is moving quickly. From the lower cloud, a vertical veil of gray rain begins to descend and within minutes I feel the first fat drops of rain. Back in my car I sit out the deluge, the wind whipping the trees and searing slashes of lightning followed closely by booming thunder. It's tornado season in the Midwest, so it's both exciting and a little scary. But soon the crack and bang depart, leaving behind a long steady cold spring rain.