Part of living in the deep south in the summer is dealing with frequent, severe thunderstorms - the kind of storms that sunder trees and topple trash cans.

      They happen when a warm, wet mass of stationary air from the Atlantic ocean (which is our normal weather) encounters a snappy little moist cold front marching into Georgia from the Gulf.

      Sometimes these masses meet to do battle along a two-hundred mile front, and dozens of thunderstorms are spun out of their passing.

      That's what happened last night here.

      The day had been hot and muggy. (Hundred degree days are just weeks away now.) Evening settled grey and perceptibly cooler. People were in their yards, stowing their lawn mowers, breaking out the brewskies, cranking up their propane grills, and getting ready to celebrate Saturday night.

      Darkness came. The temperature dipped. Sounds carried in the stillness. Electronic music floated across the pecan groves and parking lots full of restless teenagers on the move.

      The first few, huge drops of rain came splattering down. People scurried to move their food inside.

      A wind lifted, driving the stuttering raindrops aslant. The wind became a howl. Old folks lifted their heads and thought of tornadoes.

      A flash of light, then counting the seconds, KA-BOOM!

      The storm had arrived!

      Splat, bang, snap, boom! Feel the electricity trickling through the air, raising the small hairs on your arms - that means a strike is imminent.

      BOOM!

      Plunged into darkness. That was the power. "A transformer blew up!" shouts a neighbor over the noise of the storm. "I saw it!" (What the hell is he doing outside - in this?)

      BOOM! Great forking, blinding shafts of furious electrical power. BOOM! That was a pecan tree shattering. BOOM! Yikes. That was close. RATTLE! Trash can lid? BOOM!

      The lights come back on, and stay on for three seconds, then go out again.

      Motorists are pulling off US 1, their four-way flashers going.

      Plink! Plink!

      Now hail. Is it dime-sized, nickle-sized, or golf-ball-sized?

      BOOM!

      One of these days, we're going to get football-sized hail, and that's really going to get interesting.

      KA-BOOM!

      The rain is a constant thrumming on the roof. The pecan trees are swaying. Dim lights -- candles, flashlights -- can be seen through the neighbors' windows.

      The utility truck arrives.

      KA-BOOM!

      They're riding along shining their spotlight up at the power poles.

      Some small, yippy dog is barking at the thunder.

      Boom! That was further away. The rain stutters, no longer the solid sheet of white noise on the roof that it had been, and the wind lessens.

      A distant flash -- counting the seconds. Another flash. The storm has passed. The rain stops.

      Doors open. People step outside with their flashlights to inspect for damage. I step outside, too. There's a huge pecan limb in the driveway. I drag it aside onto the grass.

      Georgia Power circles by again, still looking.

      My flamboyant neighbor comes out to turn her lawn chairs upright. She's got a flashlight in one hand and a beer in the other. "Whew!" she complains. "I thought that big one was gonna get us!"

      She walks over to the pecan limb that I had dragged onto the lawn and prods it with her foot, as if it's roadkill and she's not quite sure it's dead. She sees me watching her, and she grins, embarrassed.

      Steam rises from the ground. Thirsty soil quickly drains the rain water away. The temperature has dropped by twenty degrees or more.

      The lights come on, and they stay on this time. I hear a distant cheer from the teenagers cruising the parking lot.

      I go back inside, and plug in the television and cable. There's no signal. Back outside, and I look up at the pole where the cable line is. My line is laying on the ground. The end of it is... burnt away.

      I hold the slender cable, and I remember the very loud bang. My neighbor is right -- that strike almost got us!