A Beautiful Storm

I think S Oregon, where I grew up, has the best climate I've found so far; it gets hot and dry enough for it to feel like summer, the rain brings back the green and then the clouds move on, the snow falls sparingly enough for one to be excited by it but not imprisoned by it, and the seasons do not overlap each other unreasonably (unlike 9 months of rain in NW WA and 10 months of sun in AZ). I do not mean to offend anyone in WA or AZ, that's just my personal opinion of what feels like home.
However, I have been looking for things to like about living here in AZ, so that it feels less foreign and so that I miss the Northwest less. I like the sunsets, going to school in shorts, freckles instead of paleness, and blue skies surrounding the tops of palm trees. Another thing I found to like, are the thunder storms. On Camano the storms were heavy, gray, depressing things that blow wind and rain for days and make you cold and glum, particularly when the power goes out. Here, the summer storms so far have been evening events that are over and moved on by morning, after dumping some warm rain, blowing some gusts of humid wind, and giving a lightning show. Last night's storm was a bit more violent than the others, but also more exciting.
I went out on the balcony of my apartment to watch the lightning sizzling across the clouds, back and forth from both sides of the patch of sky I could see. The clouds had moved right overhead, and the lightning was almost nonstop, the thunder a continuous rumble punctuated by louder cracks and rolls. The rain created small lakes in the low-lying places, and the wind tossed the branches of trees and made my bamboo wind chime dance. The lightning was a thing of dangerous beauty, branching out clearly and brightly so that I could see the definition of its form, not just the flash of light. Thankfully, it spread horizantally rather than vertically, causing a lot less damage than it could have. The hot air was at last cooled, and I stood barefooted in puddles, just watching the play of light and sound. There also sounded the ominous wail of sirens, a sobering reminder that people do stupid things or just happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time during storms like this.
This morning, the sun shines down as usual, down upon the wreckage of battered trees, broken windows, and giant puddles that fill parking lots and make lakes out of lawns.
It was a beautiful storm, and a tangible reminder that we are mortal.
The birds are happy; they wet their feathers and cool their parched throats, wading in the puddles and splashing amongst partially submerged cacti and agave.