Your column captured how I always feel when the sky turns gray/green and the winds pick up. When the sirens call, I do seek shelter, but I continue to run back upstairs to look out the window to the west. I observe from a distance if need be, but that is where the drama is, where the devilish beauty and strength of the storm resides. These storms are a stark reminder of who is really in charge. And it's not us!
We are definitely not in charge of the weather (and so much more). You have the right idea watching from a safe area! I learned to do that after the derecho. Thank you for your comment.
Everything about the weather seems almost unpredictable. I don’t remember August being so rainy. I remember draught—brown singed grass, oven hot air, fried eggs on pavement—that kind of thing.
Your column captured how I always feel when the sky turns gray/green and the winds pick up. When the sirens call, I do seek shelter, but I continue to run back upstairs to look out the window to the west. I observe from a distance if need be, but that is where the drama is, where the devilish beauty and strength of the storm resides. These storms are a stark reminder of who is really in charge. And it's not us!
We are definitely not in charge of the weather (and so much more). You have the right idea watching from a safe area! I learned to do that after the derecho. Thank you for your comment.
I am always nervous AND want to be a tornado chaser!
Isn't that the way!?
Your lovely poem brings back memories of my childhood on the farm in northwest Iowa.
I only started hiding in the basement after the derecho. As a kid we just watched from the driveway.
Everything about the weather seems almost unpredictable. I don’t remember August being so rainy. I remember draught—brown singed grass, oven hot air, fried eggs on pavement—that kind of thing.