Here we are on the porch in Balaton, sitting underneath the awning and watching the rain. There, on the table, are my indulgences: a cup of steaming tea and an unwrapped bar of dark chocolate (70% coco, if you’re curious). Everywhere – here at the table, there in the garden, beyond through the houses, up in the grey sky, and down along the cloudy water – is a sense of calm and peace and tranquillity. Except for last night.
Last night, after a successful stewing of goulash over the fire pit (and after eating that tasty goulash), a storm kicked up that put me in the mood for some night-time wonder. Zsolt and I (wise or unwise) headed to the lake side and watched the lightening streak across the far off northern shore. And ten meters away, on our southern shoreline, the water crashed into the rocks – while Balaton might be shallow (shallow, but very wide) there’s no way I’d have been enticed into that water.
The storm was, in short, magnificent.
I love to be overpowered by nature, made to feel small – and yet, and yet totally plugged in. Like I took my personal plug and inserted it into the storm’s crazy energy socket. You know what I mean? It’s a feeling of awe and wonder and fascination. Almost spiritual.
Sometimes it’s good to be reminded that we are small, and the world is big. I cannot exactly say why, but that is my sense. It’s a beautiful thing (and very fitting for the gothic horror novel I’m currently reading, The Woman in White, by Wilkie Collins).
Anyhow, after deciding the storm was a little too intense for safety standards, Zsolt and I retreated from the beach and I scribbled everything down in my journal. Now there’s probably a touch of Mr Collins’ voice in this description (because I absorb other people’s styles like a sponge), but I think it might actually fit the scenario.
Here is the Balaton storm, painted through words and jotted down in my journal, in the epistolary format of Mr Collins.
“We stood at the lakeside as my sweet Balaton turned into a churning mass of storm – wind gusting at near hurricane speeds against our faces (and bodies, and trees, and huts, and shore) as lightening cracked and crawled along the northern shoreline behind the Badacsony hills. Amazing! It’s awesome to witness a developing storm – awesome with the incredible power and force. Loved every second (despite being scared the waves would suck us up into the froth). It was an experience, inside and out. Awesome, absolutely Awesome.”
It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a great storm. (blame it on the UK fizz and permanently mild weather)
There’s no particular reason I’m sharing this with you today, except that beautiful things ought to be shared. And last night was truly spectacular. Sometimes we need to feel small. Sometimes we need to be awed. Sometimes we (I) need to plug into a higher power, whatever that may be.