The sky turns into many shades of crimson warning of imminent danger.   Howling winds, drenching rain, thunder and lightning to wake the dead.    But this is subtropical Asia.  We are used to it.

It is also nature’s way of breaking the sweltering, suffocating heat and bringing a little relief.  We do not wait for the storm.  We go to bed.

I wake to a loud cracking noise.  My hair stands on end.   I sit up in bed just as the roof lifts up at one end and then the whole thing peels away.

Rain pours down.  It feels cool.  I let the rain wash down on my face, sticking out my tongue.   Since I was a small child I have been fascinated by storms that I watched from the highest window I could find.   But I was never actually in the middle of one.

My brother is yelling something and pulling me away.   We are going to the rectory.    I run along with everyone else.

The priest has a room for our father and Linda.  The rest of us spend the night sleeping on the pews.

The next day, I go to my beach.  There is a huge boulder on the sand there.  The boulder has been split in half, as if someone took a knife and sliced through an apple.  I am shocked at the power of lightning.