There is a comfort in mid day storms, the lights off and the blankets drawn close. Outside the world is a rustle of tree branches and the grumble of thunder. It dies down only to pick up again with the urge of wind. There is a hum like a beast, like an engine. The world smells like storm clouds and you wait for the patter of rain on your window. It taps morse code that you’ve long forgotten. It reminds you of your grandmother’s house sitting fat by the woods; screened-in porch with tin roof. Trees sway, light pulses, water on the pond ripples; it’s like a dance. And you stand captivated at age eight watching and knowing nothing so chaotic has ever felt so peaceful.