He makes clouds rise from the ends of the earth; he sends lightning with the rain and brings out the wind from his storehouses.
Sunday storms and the full moon pouring out at the same time in different parts of the sky. The moon, well rose in the east, and the flickering of lightning through the clouds to the southwest lighting them in rose-blues, violets and gold hues. Very dramatic evening on the porch with the fire flies adding their sparks on and off like a jeweled netting over the lawn and fields and tree lines. The power and violence of a storm coming in after great heat and humidity always astounds me, causes my attention to sit up straight, reminds me of my insignificance in the universe. What a cleansing of false notions of the self, these illusions we habit daily. Oh, to die to self like any season; to lean into the gale.