It goes back to my childhood, upstate, when we'd visit my grandparents.
One dark and rainy night (awesome set up, right?!) I was in the backseat of our Impala with my baby sister as mom and co-pilot dad escaped the Bronx. The rain was deafening on the car.
We had already gotten off the flooding Taconic and were doing county roads when suddenly, in a glow of a closed repair garage's floodlight, the wind ripped a large metal sign off of the building and cast it away out of the light and into the darkness.
A moment later we navigated a bend in the road only to find a freshly fallen tree laying across it. Ambushers could not have laid it more perfectly. And please don't picture a tree you think you could lift. This was an old oak that, on its side, was as high as the top of our car.
At that point my parents made parent like decisions that eventually got us to my grandparents place. The power was out there, and everywhere else apparently, so we sat by candle light, the adults adulted with their coffee and cake, and I sat and looked out the window.
Sheets of rain washed past. The dark black hills would suddenly light up like twilight as lightning rolled through the clouds. The hammer of thunder vibrated through the house and the wind shook all the windows.
Ever since that beautiful and treacherous night where Mother Nature formally introduced herself to me, I have been one of her biggest fans.