Lying in bed. The sheets kicked off. The darkness broken suddenly by the vivid strobe of light. It fills the room with the charged energy of anticipation. The fan whirs its hypnotic rhythm. Counting; "one-one hundred, two-one hundred, three-one hundred " waiting. Waiting for that sound to slice open the entire fabric of the sky. Thunder approaches with smells of memories drenched in childhood, forgotten tears, silent squeals of innocent excitement. Senses saturated as the rain begins to fall. Eyelids heavy. A lullaby of rain on a tin roof. A sleep of all that heaven must be.