So I stand at the bottom of my doorstep, having been drawn out of bed by the flashes of light. At first I thought them to be the flickering of electricity, from one of my neighbors’ lamps perhaps. This is not the case. The flashes are varying in intensity, and inconsistent in timing. Standing here, now, the air is still and the temperature forgettable. Although there has been both snowfall and seventy-degree weather this week, it is neither warm nor cold. There are no bugs, no distant cries of coyotes, and there is no wind. My dog sits at my side, ears perked, his eyes trained at the same point in the sky as mine. We watch in silence as the hazy flashes burst through the cloud cover. All is silent, it seems, but if you listen patiently, you can pick up the rolling sound of distant thunder.