Thunder grumbles atop the clouds. Darkened in misery, they tumble and crash about the sky weeping their lightening in sporadic busts of clarity – hues of violent violet and drifting stone. I am in awe of God’s majesty whose ferocity is like the turbulent storm, whose wisdom vibrates with electric shocks of sudden brilliance, whose mercy is as flooding and nourishing and fragrant as the rain which washes away oil and soot from the blacktop in the same sweeping motion as it would pull life into seeds buried beneath the muddy soils – blackened like clay. The storms celebrate the season, glorify God’s tampering with the color of the leaves and cheer His cooling of the breezes. The whistles and whines of their bellowing like trombones press imaginings into my mind of an orchestrated dissonance birthing a tinkling of harmony in droplets of water that splash against my window and into my soul. Thunder storms will always be my favorite remembrance of God’s greatness.