It’s spring, and the strong thunderstorm season is upon us (I just heard a resounding “DUH!” from every citizen of Windsor). I’ve got the camera out at night, and I’m enjoying the thunderstorms as they blow by.
Well, what tongue does the wind talk? What nationality is a storm? What country do rains come from? What color is lightning? Where does thunder go when it dies? Boys, you got to be ready in every dialect with every shape and form to hex the St. Elmo’s fires, the balls of blue light that prowl the earth like sizzling cats.
– Ray Bradbury Something Wicked This Way Comes