Mary Cassian describes an occasional scene from her childhood.

I loved thunderstorms when I was a little girl.

Though we only got a few of them each summer in Western Canada where I grew up.

But whenever I heard the skies begin to clap and rumble, I quickly go and grab a blanket and

head outside.

And there was a narrow strip of dry concrete

just outside the front door where the overhang of the roof

kept it dry and kept the rain from falling. And there I

nestled into the corner and tucked myself in and settle down to watch the

show. And sometimes I'd stay in that cocoon for hours fascinated by the jagged light flashes that would split open the sky.

And after each flash I'd count. flashes that would split open the sky.

And after each flash I'd count,

1,000, 2,000, 3 1,000,

until the inevitable rumble interrupted my tally.

My mom would usually poke her hat out of the door

to check on me and she'd give me a big mug of steaming hot chocolate and if I was

lucky there'd be a big puffy marshmallow floating in the froth.

The spectacle of lightning absolutely amazed me.

To me, it was better than any New Year's Eve fireworks display.

I was W.

This is the Reviver Hearts podcast

with Nancy Damas Walgamuth, author of Adorn.

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