I’ve always been scared of thunder, all growing up even through high school. Always had that anxious squeeze of my heart burning in my throat and ringing in my ears waiting for the inevitable crash and boom. But I’m lying here in my bed alone in my apartment. Flashes of light brace against the window and rain throws itself at the walls, all while the thunder is rolling and rumbling like a growl lodged in the throat of the tense dog. And I feel it. That growling and tension that starts in the gut and climbs your throat like a waiting scream. And finally, the thunder yells and roars. But I am still silent. I am silent with the tension of the roar caught beneath my ribs in a cage it may never leave. But I do not flinch. I do not hide and I do not cry. This is how I know that I have grown. No longer am I the meek child who hid beneath covers or the naive teenager who feared the irrational. I am a strong standing willow whose branches have been whipped by fierce winds and whose bark has dealt wicked burns. But I still stand tall and even a little twisted. Unflinching as my branches sway in the storm that speaks outside my window. Embracing what it has to offer. From the water that cleanses my skin, and the lightning that shows the power of the earth, to the thunder that roars for those who can not. Roars in anger and anguish, but also Victory and triumph. I do not know what the thunder roars for tonight, but whatever it may be I am grateful. Because the roar in my throat is tight like a noose and the thunder’s roars keep mine at bay. Until that day comes and I will borrow the thunder’s voice as my own and bear down upon those who have earned its judgment.