Thunder, Memory, and the Gentle Ache of Longing

Thursday Afternoon, July 3, 2025, Miami, Florida

“When thunderstorms roll in, you make a choice to either succumb with tears to the gloomy downpour, or smile and look for rainbows.” — Richelle E. Goodrich, Making Wishes: Quotes, Thoughts, & a Little Poetry for Every Day of the Year

It’s a dark and stormy… day.

I’m not kidding. Here I sit in my dim bedroom, lit only by the cool, bluish glow of my computer screen, as the world outside thrums with the relentless hiss of tropical rain. Thunder rumbles—deep and oddly comforting—echoing through the clouds. The sound, as my late mother used to say, of St. Peter’s bowling alley up above.

Some people I know absolutely love thunderstorms. From the cozy shelter of their homes or offices, they marvel at the spectacle: great, towering clouds rolling in, lightning stitching brilliant blue-white threads from sky to earth. “It’s so beautiful, so thrilling,” they’ll say. One woman I dated briefly in the early 2000s once confided—after we’d amicably transitioned to friendship—that thunderstorms were, quite simply, a huge turn-on for her. (She waited until romance was safely behind us to reveal that delightful quirk.)

As for me, I’ve never much enjoyed the drama of the storm. One of my earliest memories—when I must have been no older than a toddler—is of crouching behind our living room sofa, unfortunately positioned to face the wide glass doors that opened onto the pool and patio, with the man-made lake beyond. Outside, lightning ripped open the sulking gray-black sky, palms tossed like sailors in a tempest, and thunder boomed like celestial bowling overhead.

I can’t say for certain whether this memory comes from before or after my father’s death in February 1965. Even now, at sixty-two, those old echoes linger: the tremor of fear and the yearning to find shelter in my mother’s arms. There’s a sweetness to that longing, a gentle ache that tempers the memory—just as the rain softens the edges of this stormy Miami afternoon.

Thunderstorms aren’t as terrifying as they once were—at least not when I’m safely ensconced in a solidly built house. I still don’t love them much. But if I ever meet a woman whose turn-ons include good books, Casablanca, and cuddling beneath the covers on a dark and stormy afternoon… well, I might just learn to love our Florida summer boomers after all.

If reflections like these speak to you—if you find resonance in moments of weather, memory, and the quiet art of noticing—you might enjoy my latest story, Comings and Goings – The Art of Being Seen (A Jim Garraty Story). Step into Jim Garraty’s world, where every encounter is a brushstroke and every departure a lesson in vulnerability and hope. Intimate, wry, and exquisitely observed, this new tale invites you to discover what it truly means to be seen.

Available now on Amazon. Let the next chapter unfold.