When I was a child my dad played tricks on my brother and me. One of my favorites was telling us to come out to the garage and “watch the drain pipe” during a thunderstorm. For years I thought he was actually intently interested in the water rushing down the driveway, until I realized it was a ploy to get us outside so he could keep an eye on us while he watched the storm. At that point I tuned my gaze skyward as well and fell in love with weather.
I still enjoy watching the weather. It’s one of those little things I took for granted before moving to a desert. Summers here are consistent. Hot. Dry. Sunny. Repeat. For about a week and a half I optimistically checked my weather app to see if there would be any change. There wasn’t. I gave up.
Then yesterday we had a back to school pool party and ice cream social. As I was scooping ice cream I noticed the wind pick up and the skies darken. Suddenly the rain hit us. Fast and hard and startling. Umbrellas threatened to blow away, taking tables (and Sean) with them. The crane at the construction site across the road swung around and we scrambled into the bathroom for shelter.
The whole ordeal, while unusual, lasted about 15 minutes and really wasn’t anything spectacular. I’m a bit surprised by how much it startled me. Three consistent weeks apparently lulled me into a place where micro cloud bursts are more frightening then the storms of my childhood.