…except in Georgia.
In Georgia, Mother Nature has opened a can of whoop-a$$ and the rain is pounding us hard. Tornado watches and warnings, flash flood warnings, and wind advisories are the backdrop to the late afternoon and evening.
Here’s the thing: I love it!
I love rain — especially storms. I love the ocean when it is violent and churning. I love thunderstorms with lots of lightning. I love to watch the wind make the tall pines in our backyard sway back and forth.
I am sick. But I can’t help it. If it wasn’t for the obvious danger to life and property I’d wish for storms all the time.
So what is it about storms that attract me? I don’t know. I mean, I’m loud, but essentially mild-mannered. Remember the dinosaur from Disney’s Toy Story? I don’t like confrontation, either.
Maybe that’s why I like the storms — maybe I’m just living vicariously — dangerously — in a storm.
Maybe I just see the beauty in it.
This painting of a road in a small village as an ominous storm approaches hangs in my living room. It is an oil painting by a Cuban artist, Edelmira Villar. I don’t know what became of her. She was a friend of the family’s, and I enjoyed going to visit her because she always had some new exciting project to share.
She suffered from manic painting episodes, and this particular painting was going to be trashed when my parents rescued it. They gave it to me some years ago. I don’t think many people like it which is too bad. This photograph doesn’t capture the darkness rolling in because I couldn’t avoid the light bouncing off the oil (hmmm, ponder that!). Anyway, evidently this painting affects me differently.