Sunday, July 25, 2010

Last night lightning played around the summit of Mount Beacon at midnight. I had wandered onto the back porch and glanced up at its silhouette, capped by the cell towers and their red lights, glimpsed between the trunk and giant branches of our spreading oak tree. Every few seconds, the sky lit up with bright white flashes, and then, on the southern shoulder of the mountain, the epicenter of the lightning could be seen. The masses of clouds that were revealed by the flashes had a navel, a deep cave within the billowing vapors that was flying northwards just above the tree line of the mountain. Inside that place tendrils of lightning radiated in all directions as if from some apparatus in a mad scientist's laboratory. I watched until it disappeared behind the mountain and the flashes became more and more diffuse.