There are still pinwheels of yellow fire at the horizon, nearly 45 minutes after the most massive lightning storm I’ve seen since childhood swept past where I live, went on to Boston and to the ocean beyond. I was in my third floor room until the flashing that I was trying to ignore became so consistent I had no choice but to disconnect from the ‘net – and for added safety I soon came down to the second floor, in time for some of the brightest, multi-series flashes and loudest bursts of thunder, which continued to build. My housemate was already on the porch, until the wind swept rain drove him in – I would not have joined him there. We watched the display from various windows for a half hour as it illuminated our neighborhood in white and blue light, and even made the clouds as distinct as during the daytime. On more than one occasion I moved away from the windows to the shelter of the kitchen nook. The possibility of strikes within our own neighborhood as we watched from the windows felt not-as-remote as we’d care to say. Sirens were sounding in the distance. I even found myself concerned, for a moment, about a former friend who lived in a third floor perch on the top of a hill – I don’t think I’d given her a sympathetic thought since I’d been spurned, but in this storm I was briefly concerned, instinctually. Then the rain pattered down to a trickle and the storm seemed to split apart, with half headed northeast and half continuing east. Once these storm centers were far away, some bolts appeared as soft as those energy columns that flow through those electric globes, others appeared to be sustained glowing clouds that looked like flares dropped into clouds. Crackling lightning still lit our sky occasionally, with some arcs below the layer of clouds, others above – usually a combination of both. And then the horizon glowed yellow for awhile and the sky fell silent at last.