Thunder on spongy Delmarva is different from the sharp, piercing cracks of the midwest. Here, it soaks through the squishy, springy pulp of the land, absorbed by Delmarva herself. Stretching from above, down through and below, it bellows and shakes, and I fall back to sleep.
Sleeping through morning thunder.
Could you call it “slunder”?
Whatever you call it, it’s delicious.