Rayne had always loved thunderstorms.  For as long as she could remember, when growing up in the wide open farmland of Indiana, she was enthralled by the sign of an oncoming storm. Something about the way the sunlight hit a line of trees against a dark, foreboding sky created an eerie drama that spoke of pending danger and excitement.  As the jagged shards of lighting began to snap and spark, creating giant zigzag patterns across the sky, huge drops of rain would start to pound the warm earth, causing steam to rise up to meet the descending clouds. It was so dramatic. Especially when surrounded by nothingness. The wide open sky was a blank canvas for the dramatic downpour that was sure to come. She always loved the excitement of it, and didn’t mind one bit getting caught in the rain and getting totally soaked with the fierceness of it all.
 
The drama of nature always did stir her passions. The changing light, the unpredictability and hint of danger followed by a glorious burst of sunlight and the sudden appearance of huge, often double, rainbows arching from one end of the sky to the other.  And, later, as she lay awake listening to the rumbling thunder somewhere in the distance, Rayne would dream of rearranging furniture in the sky and could swear that the angels were bowling above the clouds.