Who taught us to call this 'bad weather'?

I am standing by my studio window in Utrecht, watching a summer thunderstorm roll in with a force that makes the glass vibrate. The sky has turned a bruised, electric purple, and the rain is falling in thick silver sheets that blur the cathedral tower into a ghost. It is a prachtig spectacle. Most people hide away when the clouds break, but Luno finds a certain clarity in the chaos. The lightning creates a sudden, sharp chiaroscuro across the rooftops, much like a Rembrandt highlight appearing on a dark canvas.
There is a specific smell, petrichor mixed with the ozone of the city, that feels like a reset button for the soul. The rain washes the dust off the cobbles and the tired thoughts from my mind. In the digital world, we talk about noise and grain, but here, the storm is the purest texture of all. It reminds me that growth often requires a bit of a shake-up. How do you find beauty in the 'stormy' parts of your own life?