Undulating.
Roar, of thunder. Echoing off cliffs, resounding from mountains.
Darkened cloud.
filled of burning light,
rage across the heavenward plain.
Each crash,
taut with tremulous power,
testing the bounds of light,
fills the valley, surging from one end to other,
inundates forest, field, and farm with shattering tremors.
Each strike followed by another, closer, brighter, clearer, bolder, hotter, fuller, faster, louder, freer, longer, truer, untainted testaments to total intensity.
Rivers grow from fragile creeks, catching rock, wood, metal in the unrelenting surging stream.
Mighty waters rise and wash through the town, draining dirt, cleaning concrete, overrunning gutter, overflowing streets, wiping away dust and grit and grime.
Rain plasters down, in thick, full sheets. You stand, below this awe inspiring shower, entirely soaked, engulfed from toe to top in complete, uncontained power. Rain forms at your shoulders, runs down your back, trickles through your jeans, and pools in your sneakers.
It saturates your hair, drips in pregnant dollops from your roots.
You float in this energy filled night, abuzz with the awesome of the natural. You find in it peaceful reassurance.
The voice of the Lord is over the waters;
the Lord thunders over the mighty waters.