Seen, Though Not Heard

Walking on the edge of the Everglades, dusk, then early evening and a deep, dark, rich velvety blue night. As humid as if you'd showered, then put on your clothes without drying at all. To the northwest, into the heart of the Glades, it starts to appear. A nightly visitor in the summer...thunderstorms, full of light, flash and fury. So very strong they can be seen from miles, and miles, and miles away, yet far enough away that the thunder is never heard. It is astounding ! The lightning strikes are frequent and dramatic. Some are interconnected across the sky, as if someone flipped a light switch in a room and you saw for the briefest instant you were surrounded by lacy spiderwebs...yet you hear...nothing. Close your eyes and through your eyelids you see the flashes, and, though shutting down one sense as much as possible, still, you hear nothing. Like looking for brief moments at the veins inside the heart of the sky, bright white and complicated...I already miss the summer...