I inhale the thunder, letting it roll over and through me. It reminds me of my own power. The lightning that strikes at the hard things in my way, slapping away the detritus of the day, releasing the rain to cleanse again.

I am a stom. And I am a child of storms. And I am a woman who rises from the storms again and again.

Fierce. Gentle. Pure. Powerful. Like the thunder, my life is a loud surprise. Like the lightning, my soul is a bright and fantastic sight. Like the rain, my heart knows when to blow away the debris and shed the tears to wash clean.

Sister storms, a hill country spring thunderstorm, I honor you. I honor the gift you give this night.