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09 07 2 0 2 5
The Lightning of This Night
"no preamble today" — someone
Last night, the sky turned into a living, breathing storm. It wasn’t just a thunderstorm — it felt like the sky itself was trying to speak, and it chose lightning as its language. What began as a quiet summer evening quickly shifted into something wild and electric.
As I walked, I noticed how the wind began to change — not cold, but heavier. The air felt dense, electric even. Birds were silent. The treetops barely moved, frozen in anticipation. Something was coming, and it was close. A distant rumble rolled across the horizon, and I turned back toward home, just as the first gusts of wind began to stir the leaves. The calm was over.
At first, it was just a flicker. One moment of brightness that lit the treetops and rooftops in the distance. But then came another. And another. Each flash grew more intense, more unpredictable. I stood by the window, unable to look away. The street below was mostly empty. Only a few parked cars and the silhouettes of trees against the horizon. But above — the sky was putting on a show.
The lightning didn’t come in bolts like you’d expect. It filled the entire sky with sheets of violet, pale white, and even soft shades of blue. The most stunning moment was when the whole horizon turned purple. It wasn’t just a flash — it lingered, as if the clouds themselves had been painted. The color was so vivid it felt surreal, like the scene belonged in a science fiction film rather than my quiet neighborhood.
I tried capturing it on my phone. The first videos were shaky, but even through the lens, the brilliance of the storm was clear. Each lightning burst danced across the sky in silence — the thunder always arrived a few seconds later, a deep, echoing growl that shook the windows slightly. It felt like the earth responding to the sky.
Back inside, I stood by the window, watching the sky darken minute by minute. What began as a quiet summer evening quickly shifted into something wild and electric. At first, it was just a flicker. One moment of brightness that lit the treetops and rooftops in the distance. But then came another. And another. Each flash grew more intense, more unpredictable.
What struck me the most was the rhythm. There was no pattern to it, but still, the lightning felt alive — almost like it had a personality of its own. Sometimes, it was quick and playful. Other times, it exploded in long, dramatic bursts that lit up the whole landscape like daylight.
Neighbors peeked from their balconies, and I could see the glow of phones trying to record what we were all witnessing. No one spoke — we were all too mesmerized.
...it felt like the sky itself was trying to speak, and it chose lightning as its language. But before all of that, there was a strange stillness in the air. I had gone out for a short evening walk, enjoying the warm breeze and the faint scent of summer grass. The streets were calm, the sky cloudy but peaceful, and I had no idea what was about to unfold.
I’ve seen many storms, but this night was different. It wasn’t frightening, even though the power of nature was on full display. It was beautiful, peaceful in a chaotic way. A reminder of how small we are, and how incredible the world around us can be — even when it starts with just a quiet walk before the storm
That,s all for today.
Stand by
Sincerely yours
