Distant thunder gently wakes me, then rocks me back to a deep sleep. Like a snooze alarm with a slapstick punchline five minutes later: Wham! and the house shakes with the force of the lightening bolt, probably the next one hovering right over my head, 800 yards straight up in the sky and coming down fast.
Welcome to the rainforest.
I’m up with the second crash, heading around the corner to my office computer, dialing in the local weather radar on the Interwebnets, confirming all hell is about to break loose, again, and shutting down the computer and monitor before the little electric men living inside the lightening can crawl up the wires and fry the motherboard.
March, April, May. Three months of incredible rain events, these past two weeks probably the incrediblest, have taken the entire state of Texas and its vast collection of two-thirds-empty river reservoirs and filled them right up, taken our “dry” creek systems and leaking farm ponds, our ground water tables, our Brazos and Colorado rivers, our crackling dry prairies and bare-dirt rice fields and rejuvenated them to overflowing.
Overflowing with mosquitoes, too. Flash floods and tornado warnings and a river running through the lower back yard like a pack of thieves looking for anything not tied down, and grabbing it up, tossing it into the trailer and driving off downstream to dump it onto the great piles of crap down in Freeport where river meets Gulf.
It happened again this morning. It’s scheduled to happen again tomorrow. Like that old Walt Disney movie where Mickey Mouse is the Sorcerer’s Apprentice and gets the broomsticks marching around with sloshing buckets of water, but doesn’t know how to make them stop.
Keep praying, California, all your dreams can come true. But be careful what you wish for.