Under the dome of heaven

When we moved to California it took me a long time to get used to seeing the mountains out the window.  There's something about looking up and seeing their majesty and beauty that is soul-stirring and I knew when we left California that there would be times I would miss seeing them.  However, while we don't have mountains in Illinois (heck, we don't even have hills) we do have something just as soul-stirring: the sky.  And we have the sky in a way many parts of the country don't experience it.

Out here on the prairie (or what used to be prairie), the sky is not just an abstract concept as in "that space not occupied by mountains, land, ocean or city".  When you are crowded in populated areas, the sky is just a backdrop against which the "real things" are showcased.  Out here in the open, with the horizon visible every direction you look, the sky has an identity in and of itself.  The sky is something you live with, something you are in contact with, something you watch and are aware of, almost like another person.  What's happening with the sky plays an active role in your life, your plans, your perceptions.  The sky has Presence.  It isn't a backdrop, it's a starring actor.

Right now, at the end of the day, the sky which had been heavy and leaden all day suddenly woke up.  There was a far off rumble which came closer and closer until suddenly it was booming like it meant it, shaking the entire house.  Thunder like that isn't "out there" - it's right here in the living room with me.  The lightning flashed between the house and the barn, the lights flickered and in a few moments, as the thunder was already rumbling off to the east the rain started pounding down.  It pelted hard for a few minutes and then it was done as quickly as it started.  The world is wet and washed and once again domed by a silent but looming presence.