A couple of Sunday’s ago after one of the spectacular thunderstorms and downpours that we’ve been having lately, I drove up State Street (for those who do not live in Newburyport, State Street is the main street of our small, historic, seaport city) after the sun had set, and it was dark, downtown Newburyport glistened, as if it had just had just been washed, had had a shower from the gods.

And I thought to myself, as I looked at it as it sparkled, “And it isn’t even black ice, thank goodness.”

And I felt very grateful to live in this beautiful place.

I’ll admit, after been hit by lightening (while in a car) in a downpour, during a flash flood, while driving through Des Moines, Iowa, I’m slightly thunderstorm phobic. (What was I doing driving in a flash flood in Des Moines, Iowa? I was very young, and frankly, let’s admit it, not too bright.)

But lately, I’ve found that the thunderstorms, that we seem to be having on an almost regular basis this summer, remind me more of the summer thunderstorms when I was very young. Curled up inside, safe and warm with friends, listening to the thunder roll. Much better than flashbacks to flash floods.