Grabbing Life by Brian Hancock

“The summer afternoon storms were especially violent. The heat of the day would simmer and smolder until the sky turned an angry bruised blue and the wind dropped to an eerie stillness. We would hear the thunder start, the storm gathering strength on the hot plains outside the city and then it would get so dark that the streetlights came on automatically. Sometimes with the rain and thunder came hail, the white pellets of ice pounding down on the tin roof and bouncing off the green grass. My mother would gather us inside, away from any window – we were told that glass attracted lightning – and we watched as the storm passed overhead. As quickly as it had started, the rain ended, the streetlights went off and the sun came out again. Often, just as the rain was tapering off there would be a ‘monkeys wedding’ when the sun was out while it was still raining. Flying ants would emerge from their underground tunnels and fill the sky, collecting around any light in thick swarms. We would shut off all lights in the house so that we did not attract them inside and watch as the streetlights were almost dimmed by the mass of delicate wings and tiny bodies that, I was told, tasted like butter when fried in hot oil.”