Flash, I was momentarily blinded by the white light, Dylan’s sleepingbag silhouette imprinted on my eyes. Fifteen seconds later the boom of thunder. Ah, life is never dull in a tent. “too bright, too loud or too scared to sleep?” Dylan asked. “the first two, I’m not scared” I shrugged cockily. Ten, moments later at a gap of ten seconds I had reconsidered my answer. Seven, then the lighting was only seven km away and we winced everytime the lighting flashed knowing the thunder was going to come rumbling through the valley again. It roared and bounced through the mountains, we could feel it vibrating through the earth. I jumped and we instinctively looked to the aluminium pole in the centre of our tent, “aluminium is a poor conductor right?” “I’m more worried about the tree above us”. Two.

The day had started sunny, but the clouds were already settling around the hills like cottonwood wreaths, slicing off the peaks so they just seemed to hover unattached. We took a walk around the countryside through small mountain towns, spied a perfect little swimming grotto under an old bridge covered in moss then back through the rabbit warren of laruns. By the time we got back to the campsite it was dull grey and then the rain poured down, we sheltered on the verandah of an empty cabin, then Dylan decided to he’ll with it he’d just have to run drenched. I had no such metal and napped and dreamed in the tent, until nightfall when in the dark the show began.

There was a lulling break in the barrage of light and noise. Perhaps it was over, but not as soon as we relaxed the lighting came again and then the wait for its clumsy cousin. Fifteen, finally the light still came but less retina frying, and the thunder was more a of a hum, that silence after such a bone shaking cacophony knocked us into sleep.