I'm making cookies and it's raining

I'm making cookies
and it's raining.
I'm stirring the butter,
sugar and vanilla
and the sky is dropping it's thunder on my roof.
While I'm mixing in the flour
lightening is zapping the hills outside my kitchen window.
And when I add in the baking soda
that I had forgotten before,
I'm listening to my favorite CD in the boombox
swirled with the raindrops now coursing down the glass panes so thickly
and furiously, I can almost see nothing in the backyard.
When I preheat the oven, the beginning clicks of gas are accompanied by
a monstrous crack that's so loud I swear it's inside my head.
After I shake in 1 tsp of cinnamon,
wind grabs tree branches and roughly shakes them back and forth and
slithers through the grass.
After the cookies have been placed on the rack,
the radio
sings the chorus,
and I lick the spoon.