We have all noticed it on warm still days. The wind begins to pick up and the sky darkens in the distance. I imagine the plants and animals of the earth sense it long before we do, receptors feeling the pressure change as a whisper in secret code; a language we lost long ago. The rolling brown fields patiently ready themselves and await the thunder, the lightning and the soaking rain, accepting this bargain in stoic anticipation. The trees bend and dance, 
intoning their ancient hymns and accepting their role as keepers of life on Earth.
As a youth in Hawaii I used to run marathons, and whilst training I would often get caught outside in the weather, miles from home. There is something primal in that, a way to be part of the world sometimes forbidden by our cloistered civilization.. We are sixty percent water and our blood races with an inner sea, yet we avoid the rain as if pushed by invisible forces on opposite poles.
But when I was out there running — tired and hot — and the rains came down hard and cool and clear, I would sometimes shout in pure joy at the roiling sky; arms upraised in solitary celebration, alive within the storm.
I am here, I am here. We are here.
whoisfenton 