We're having our first significant storm of the spring tonight. When I went for my run earlier the sky grew darker and darker as I got further and further from home, but it was so bloody muggy that I still hoped it would dump on me. The clouds darkened all evening, but the rain held off for several hours, waiting until after dark. The wind came first, cooling the air. We've had two hot days and the breeze was a nice change. Then a bit of rain; fat plopping drops. Harbinger. This is a gentle storm. Broad strokes of lightning, taking the evening sky from dove gray to bright, hot lilac. Lucy was outside for that part. Unfazed by the rain and by the sporadic lightning. Neel, a self-proclaimed expert on beagles, claims that storms don't bother them. The way she just bolted under my chair? Well, I beg to differ.

I love nights like this. It's not so warm that we have the house shut up, the air conditioning chilling us. Don't get me wrong, there's nothing sweeter than that cool, conditioned air when summer lolls hot and heavy. But these nights, with the windows open and the sound of the rain and the swish of cars in the street, oh how I love feeling so connected to the air and the night. The storm has moved around us now. When it started, it was north and east of us, the wind and the lightning coming at the back of the house. Now bright bursts of icy blue light up my livingroom windows. It grows stronger as it circles us, the rain more intense.

This (as if any given moment is any different!) is when I feel my limitations keenly. I feel frustrated with this burgeoning photography bug, the need to document with pictures not just words. I am not good at it at all. I yearn to capture that brief clash of color, the sight of the trees silhouetted against the sky. Still, even if I could, would you smell the rain in the air? Or the damp sigh of the grateful earth?