It Was A Dark And Stormy Night

A storm raged noisily outside our windows last night.

(Hmmm. I'm a little concerned with the word raged in that sentence. Sure it's a fairly common adjective for storms and this one if it wasn't exactly raging was surely pissed at something, but I wonder if storms really can rage and if they're able to summon up that very human quality can they also conjure other traits and if so, how would we know? I mean, is there a difference between a happy storm and one with a rock in its shoe?)

A storm passed through Boquete last night, (that seems fairly safe) bringing with it lots of rain, high (and low) winds, lightning and thunder. (Okay, hold on, the storm didn't actually bring these things, the storm IS, in fact, these things. I'll have to try again.)

There was a storm last night in Boquete. Please use your acquired knowledge of what a storm is to fill in the details. Make it colorful and imaginative because I wouldn't want to bore you. Talk about the noise for sure, rain, wind, thunder and throw in something about frogs. Frogs are always good. You might even mention the spooky effect lightning has when it flickers by your windows and casts weird momentary shadows on your walls. You might, but you don't have to. You also, if, you're feeling creative, might talk about the dreams that late night storms inspire. Mine, of course, were all about the bridge being washed out, no place to turn around and there's a light in the window of that old castle there on the hill, but yours, well, they might be less predictable. You could also mention how when morning light makes its daily appearance and you can actually see the storm, it looks so much less threatening than you had imagined lying in the dark and listening to it. Oh, and forget snow. There's no snow in my storms. If you want snow, you'll have to have your own storms.

Alrighty then, you have the setting. Now for the story. In the middle of the night, when the thunder clapped loudest, (Clapped? Clapped? Does thunder have hands?) our dog Gus, a fearless defender of all things us, leaped from our bed and raced around the house barking his head off (not literally) in search of the intruder who was making such a loud noise. He does this whenever it thunders, a thing which during the day we find amusing, but is clearly a lot less so any time during the first six hours of the A.M. period. Finding all things ours secure, he circled back to the bed and with a fairly impressive leap of roughly three times his own height he returned to his accustomed place at its bottom, his head lying lightly across my ankles.

And that's it. As you can see this whole story is heavily dependent on your description of the storm so please...make it a good one.