Once upon a time, there was a girl.
She's afraid of storms. She's scared as she stands in the garage with her father, and hugs him close. She's small, with brown hair, and deep brown eyes. She likes to wear flannel, just like her dad.

He reassures her that the storm will be over soon. It crackles, making her jump. But he just laughs. She asks why he's able to laugh in front of such a bad storm.

"Well, sweetheart," He'd say, as he lifted her up and into his arms. "I'm not afraid of the storm. It helps the grass and flowers grow, and the trees grow greener and stronger. It may look bad, but it's just nature washing herself."

...

Years have now passed. She's got her own home, and her father's gone.

She's standing in her garage, watching the storm rage in front of her. Her silhouette is illuminated by the crack of lightning miles away, followed by the familiar rumbling thunder. She can still feel her neck hair stand on end.
But she laughs.

She's no longer afraid.

The storm is helping the flowers grow. All it is is nature washing herself.