If you have ever wanted to listen to the song of thunderbirds, you should go to the mountains, put your tent on the safe side of a hill and wait for a storm at night.
The night it happened to us, we had crawled into our tent with the first drops and just started falling asleep listening to the heavy rain, the best lullaby that you can imagine. Small bushes are wonderful percussionists. They catch the drops with their leaves to create unimaginable rhythms. And when we were fully relaxed and had already started to go deeper into the dream world, it began. The noise bursted out of the sky tearing it apart and it felt like the whole world had fallen off its canvas. It felt like our tiny tent was one of those random pieces, odds and ends floating around purposelessly after the sky had broken. There was a tiny pause and the lightning followed. Again and again. And it was first time that we really understood what loud meant.
In the morning it was all quite and pure.