It’s night. The dogs bark and run to the window alerting us of danger.  Jim follows and calls to me. I hurry to see, then dash for my camera. Jim was already on his way outdoors to handle the most dreaded part of poultry ownership – the culling of the flock. Now we both head out into the night.

Outdoors the sky is black, aside from the blinding flashes of light that are nearly constant. I start my count, but I don’t get past one-one thousand, for the sharp cracks of thunder are nearly instant. North, south, west, and straight overhead – the attack rages on from nearly every direction. The sound reminds one of our dogs of gunfire and we wonder what terrifying memories the thunder has recalled. She runs for cover as her masters, now armed with their weapons of choice, head out into the dangers of this night.

Amidst the horror of the thunder and the lightening, sounds of imperfect poultry screaming their last breath echo through the night. And I, with my camera mounted to a lightening rod tripod, perch on the front hill for a better view. The danger is real. Lightening is threatening from all about. In my mind the legend of Aunt Grace is quickly retold.  A soul’s warning of danger – as if I’d forgotten how her life was cut short by the strike of a lightening bolt. “But I must get the shot!” I argue in response, as I press the shutter open yet again for another chance at capturing those elusively ominous fingers of light in this huge sky of black. My skin crawls with the charge in the air. Finally, I grab my gear . . . and run.

(Originally written as an email for friends and family last week after photographing a lightening storm, and what was going through my mind as I did so. Since I am way behind on my blog, I thought I’d pick this easy addition to post just for fun )

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