LIGHTNING MAPS

It’s stormy season already. I clicked open Lightningmaps and looked for the little yellow dots that represent a strike.

I’d have loved lightningmaps when I was a kid. It was exciting enough peering out of the kitchen window, scanning the deep grey sky above the houses. In later years, once we’d had a Velux put into my sister’s attic bedroom, it was even better to stand, socks on her duvet, arms perched on the slightly wet window-rim. We’d poke our heads through that open window, two small observers in a world of wet grey tiles and shimmering rooftops.

My Dad had taught us that you count the seconds between flash and rumble, then divide it by 5 to find out how many miles away it had been. I remember asking why, not ever being satisfied with the reason.

This time, the trees are verdant green. It’s that time of year when everything flourishes and the leaves are their fullest, richest and brightest. The horse chestnuts sway with their delicate candles, the tall beeches and English oaks rise in resplendent green against the angry grey clouds. Birds sing, cars swoosh in the puddles, and heavy drops of thundery rain thud from the sky.

Lightningmaps is a bit delayed. First there’s a loud rumble, like a neighbour clattering their wheelie bins. Then, on the map, a great circle of grey spreads over Basingstoke. Next, the sky flickers like an electric lamp to the East and moments later the yellow dot appears on-screen, gigantic grey circles overlapping and fading as they intersect. We’re no longer left to count and guess like we were in my sister’s room; the Internet shows us where the strike was and when, presumably thanks to some satellite.

I haven’t used it since last summer. It was quite nice to see it again today, as though it was sort of the beginning of the season.

The storm’s moved over Salisbury now. It’s a cluster of yellow and grey, swirling down the map. Meanwhile our sky, our real sky here has turned to bright sunshine on one side, and black clouds on the other. In the middle, the water tower glows brilliant white, like a sort of mediator of the argument.

I like stormy season.