Aya Counts the Thunder on a Stormy Night

It had been raining all afternoon. By bedtime, the rain was pattering on the roof and drumming on the windows. Aya lay in bed in her green pajamas, holding her soft cloth rabbit, Pom-Pom.

Mama had read her a story. Baba had tucked the blanket around her feet. The little moon lamp on her shelf glowed a soft, creamy yellow.

Aya closed her eyes.

Then, FLASH! The whole room lit up white for a moment.

And then, RUMBLE-RUMBLE-BOOM!

Aya's eyes flew open. She pulled the blanket up to her nose. Pom-Pom's ears trembled in her hands.

"Baba!" she called. "Baba, the sky is too loud!"

Baba came in right away. He sat on the edge of her bed. He was wearing his striped slippers and his big woolly sweater.

"That's thunder," he said gently, smoothing her hair. "There's a thunderstorm outside tonight."

"I don't like it," whispered Aya. "It's so big and grumbly. It makes my tummy jump."

Baba nodded. "Thunder is very loud," he said. "But it can't come inside, and it can't hurt you. We are safe and dry in our house. Do you know what thunder really is?"

Aya shook her head.

"When the clouds are full of rain and wind, sometimes they make a flash of light. That's lightning. And the lightning makes the air go whoosh, so fast that it makes a big sound. That sound is thunder. It's just the sky making noise."

"Like the sky clapping its hands?" asked Aya.

Baba smiled. "Yes, a bit like that. A very big pair of hands."

FLASH! went the window.

Aya squeezed Pom-Pom tight.

"Now," said Baba quickly, "let's play a game. When you see the flash, we start counting. One, two, three. We keep counting until we hear the thunder. Ready?"

Aya wasn't sure she wanted to play. But Baba's voice was calm, so she nodded.

"One," said Baba softly. "Two. Three. Four."

RUMBLE-RUMBLE.

"Four!" said Baba. "We counted to four. Do you know what that means?"

"What?"

"The bigger the number, the farther away the storm is. If we count to a small number, the storm is close. If we count to a big number, the storm is far away. So let's watch and see if the numbers get bigger."

Aya sat up a little. This was interesting. She held Pom-Pom on her lap so he could watch too.

They waited. Rain pattered on the glass. The wind sang a long, low song in the trees.

FLASH!

"One," whispered Aya, along with Baba. "Two. Three. Four. Five. Six."

Rumble.

"Six!" said Aya. "That's bigger than four!"

"It is," said Baba. "The storm is moving away."

Mama peeked around the door with a cup of warm milk. "Is everyone all right in here?"

"We're counting thunder," said Aya. "It's at six."

"Six is very good," said Mama. She set the milk on the bedside table. "Would you like to make a cozy place to count from?"

Aya's eyes grew wide. "A blanket fort?"

"A small one," said Mama, laughing. "It's still bedtime."

So Baba draped a big blanket over two chairs and the edge of the bed. Mama put cushions inside. Aya crawled in with Pom-Pom, and Baba crawled in after her, even though he was so tall that his head touched the roof of the fort. Mama handed them a little flashlight.

Inside the fort, everything was soft and warm and close. The rain sounded quieter here, like a gentle shushing. Aya drank her warm milk in little sips.

FLASH! The window glowed, but in the fort it was only a soft, pale shimmer through the blanket.

"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight," counted Aya and Baba.

Rumble... It was softer now, like a big cat purring.

"Eight!" said Aya. "It's going further and further."

"The storm is saying goodbye," said Baba.

Aya shone the flashlight on the blanket roof. She made a circle of light. Baba made shadow shapes with his hands: a bird, a dog, a rabbit with long ears.

"That's Pom-Pom!" giggled Aya.

They waited for the next flash. It took a long time to come. Aya yawned.

FLASH. It was just a faint glow now.

"One," said Aya sleepily. "Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven."

Mmmm-rumble. It was so soft and far away that it was hardly a sound at all.

"Eleven," whispered Aya. "The storm must be very, very far away now."

"Maybe it's over the mountains," said Baba. "Maybe it's going to water the farms and fill the rivers."

Aya liked that idea. She imagined the storm walking over the hills, carrying its rain to the thirsty fields and the flowers and the trees. Maybe the thunder was its way of saying, "Here I come, plants! Here comes your drink!"

"Baba," she said, "I don't think the thunder is so scary now."

"No?"

"It's just the sky being loud. And loud isn't the same as bad."

Baba kissed the top of her head. "That's very wise, my little one."

The rain kept falling, soft and steady. Pitter-patter, pitter-patter on the roof. It sounded like a lullaby now. Aya's eyes grew heavy.

She waited for the next flash. And waited. But it did not come.

Baba carefully lifted her out of the blanket fort and laid her back in her bed. He tucked Pom-Pom under her arm. He pulled the blanket up to her chin. The moon lamp glowed its soft, creamy glow.

"Goodnight, Aya," he whispered.

"Goodnight, Baba," she mumbled. "Goodnight, storm."

Far, far away, over the mountains, the thunder gave one last soft rumble, like a goodnight.

But Aya didn't hear it. She was already fast asleep, dreaming of clouds that clapped their hands and rain that sang lullabies to the flowers.