The light comes before the rumble. The longer the gap between them, the further the storm from you. The first flash woke me. For once, my wife slept through it all. I lay alone with the sound and light, watching, listening, and counting. Light, one Mississippi, two Mississippi, then a rumbling menace above the roof. Windows rattled, the dog burrowing between us. In the next flash, a silhouette, a child midstride, framed by the illumined window. He climbed through the thunder into the flannel & heat a safe dry place between father, mother, and dog. The sound got as close as the light. It rained till morning.
Written in response to this writing challenge.