I can vividly remember being a child and waiting with excitement for the summer nights when the bottom of the sky seemed to open up so the rain could pour down. The thunder would rumble, and according to my Japanese grandmother, there were angels up above who had decided to make a bowling trip for the night. Then there was the lightning that, in one bright flash, would illuminate the entire sky for the briefest of seconds before darkness returned due to the hovering charcoal-colored clouds. These thunderstorms were fascinating to me, and my grandmother would hold me in her lap as we sat in a rocking chair on our front porch for the length of the storm. I watched in awe as the lightning flashed, and never failed to wince when there was a large clap of thunder.

   As I have grown up, I still maintain that childlike captivation whenever a large thunderstorm hits. I can always smell the mist of the approaching rain on the breeze, and I eagerly await it like I always have before. No matter how many storms I have seen, I still find myself looking for a rocking chair so I can sit down and forget about everything else going on around me. Then I can simply enjoy nature’s firework show that cannot be rivaled by any man-made imitations.

   While it is easy to dislike storms for ruining plans, making any form of travel difficult, etc., I see them as a single event that never fails to make me stop what I am doing so that I pay attention to and appreciate my surroundings. No matter where I am in my life, both geographically and mentally, watching thunderstorms is something I have chosen to always make the time to enjoy, even if it's only momentarily. And just by taking the time to do nothing, I am reminded of some of my favorite childhood memories and the kind of comfort felt when curled up in my grandmother’s lap that cannot be found anywhere else.