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【英文原文】
摘要：在密西西比州的布蘭登，五月的天 氣異常悶熱。禮拜天的早上，我和妻子帕特坐在露天平臺上，一邊悠閑地品著咖啡，一邊看著南邊地平線上正迅速堆積成云山的雷雨云砧。
When you're far away and lonely, there's nothing like the ...
The weather had been unusually warm for May in Brandon, Miss. My wife Pat and I were nursing a Sunday morning cup of coffee on our deck and watching thunderheads build rapidly into mountainous clouds on the southern horizon. There was barely any breeze, and the humidity was so thick you could almost roll it in your palms.
By the time we finished our second cup, the sky had turned black. Lightning danced across the horizon, accompanied by low, rumbling thunder. Only seconds after the first drops of rain had driven us inside, the phone rang. When Pat picked up the receiver, her face became the only bright spot in that gloomy day.
It was our son, David, an Army helicopter pilot. Three months earlier, he had earned his silver wings and begun a one-year assignment in South Korea, stationed near the demilitarized zone.
David made a valiant effort to sound cheerful, but we knew better from the tone of his voice. As a man who spent time during World War II on a minuscule South Pacific island, I recognized the symptoms of acute homesickness.
Gradually, the curative powers of conversation made us all feel better, until a booming clap of thunder shook the windows only inches from the phones Pat and I were using.
"What was that?" David asked, "It sounded like an explosion."
"Just thunder," Pat said, "It's been raining here all week."
There were several seconds of silence. "David," I asked, "are you still there?"
"I was thinking about what Mother said -'Just thunder.' Other than the two of you, do you know what I miss most of all -what many of the men say they miss? Thunder. We have rain, wind, snow and some violent storms, but it never thunders.
