A bolt out of the blue

When I was six years old, I loved summer storms. As the sky turned dark, the thunder clapped, and the lighting shot across the sky, I would watch from the safety of our living room window. My mother assured me that the noise was just God bowling.

When I was 16, I loved summer storms. By that time, my parents had purchased a cottage on Willsboro Bay in Upstate New York. From the safety of our porch, I would watch the rain come down in sheets and the waves rock our boat that was moored 200 yards off shore.

When we moved to Florida, I still loved summer storms. But I soon learned to respect their...