All That Can Be Hoped For - April 29 2025

 

All That Can Be Hoped For

April 29 2025

I count the seconds

before the next thunderclap

shatters the calm.

As if time could predict

distance and risk

and the physics of storms.

Especially here,

in an open field

soaked with rain

as lightning nears.

The interval shortens,

intensity grows.

They say seek shelter.

That trees aren’t safe.

To stay low

arms and legs close

in the lowest place you can find.

I think of the man

struck by lightning

from a clear blue sky.

So like rogue waves and perfect storms

no place is truly safe.

And sometimes

a muddy hole in the ground

filling with water as rain pelts down

is the best that can be hoped for.

And while the science of physics is hard,

nature toys with us,

either taking pleasure

or simply bored.

Or is she just oblivious;

the earth, going about its business

in geological time,

and the atmospheric ocean

no reason or rhyme.

As capricious

as riptides and tidal waves,

lightning strikes

and close escapes.

Caught in the rain last night, lightning flashing and the thunder getting closer.

I have great respect — verging on a sober fear — of lightning ever since seeing a video about that unfortunate man. Because even distance is apparently no guarantee.

You feel small in a thunderstorm, especially out in the open in the dark soaked with rain. You appreciate more than ever your insignificance and nature’s indifference.

Afterward, I checked on what to do if caught in an electrical storm. Other than sheltering inside, none of them were very reassuring. But as so frequently happens in life, it’s all that can be hoped for. Because in life, where the best can be the enemy of the good, you often have to settle, and that’s good enough.