Strands of Silver

What an eerie gaze the lightning has. The sight of it grips me like the hold of a long lost lover, pulling me towards its blinding brilliance. Its roar echoing in my mind, rattling the heart that lies still at its glory. The heavens are torn apart in that moment, shredded, like the curtains in a house full of cats. Great swords of light spiraling in the sky, whose colors are as numerous as that of the artist’s palate. If only I could capture the thrill of it all. My words do no justice. I can smell the electricity in the air. Those strips of brightness stretch across the night like the hand of God. The power of it resurrects the hair on the back of my neck and shivers down my spine as though I stood in the center of a barren field, waiting just before I was hit by one powerful blast. Within that second, the second the flash illuminates the sky, a fear so deep I can’t explain claws at my consciousness. But the moment in which I feel that fear is as fast as the light that causes it, and I am never truly afraid, for the awe overwhelms that. In fact, I want to extend my hand and reach back as the blinding radiance races across the night on an unseen track. It reminds me of a new silver chain, smooth and sleek, coiled around one’s finger. But, in an instant, it slips from the hand that holds it and slides into the darkness of a bathroom sink drain, never to be seen again. The flashing beauty put to waste in that dank and black place. The silver thread, so much like the perfect and rare flash of lightning, slipping away, wasted. And try as I might, I cannot explain the jagged, toxic sense of wonder it produces. Nor can I describe the thrilling curves of it, as no description can quite capture the sight. It is a spider web of light that plays threateningly close, beckoning those who dare to come and taste its rush of passion. To feel wild and free for just a fraction of a second. This is the lightning: that single spark that sweeps so majestically across the sky in an uninterpretable, angry dance. It allows our unworthy eyes to view infinity, just a instant of glory. Glory which I may never reach but shall often try. Oh, that streak of silver.