Little black rain cloud

“And once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.” — Haruki Murakami

Sometime the rain clouds aren't so little.  I grew up in Tempe, AZ.  One of the phenomenons of the area is summer rain storms.  The wind tears across the desert throwing up a magnificent wall of dirt topped by thunder clouds.  Lightening flashes brilliantly across the sky; a jagged crown to the thunderheads. I loved standing on the roof of the house and watching the wild storms come straight at us from the desert.  Dirt would hit first, a wall of tiny little needles stinking my skin then rain gets dumped out of the sky and vanishes into the starving desert floor. Hold my ground and it will swirl past in time I will be left standing there, wet and alive.