I hear the distant whales of the tornado sirens. Instead of heading to the basement like I was taught to do, I head outside to scope it out. I hear their somber, yet alarming cries off to the south. Once they subside, the air here is still, the night is dark, and now the silence is interrupted by the humming of window air conditioning units at our house and the neighbor's house. There's a storm coming. A couple of birds are restless - still awake long after the sun has set. Flying around - perhaps trying to find some steady shelter. It seems like there is panic in their nocturnal chirps. I wonder, how do bird nests stay in trees during the high winds that accompany some storms? They must or we would see all sorts of them all over the ground with other downed branches and debris in the aftermath.
I'm sitting in the backyard waiting for the storm to arrive. I've been watching the strobing lightening for some time off in the west. As it moved closer, its bright flashes light up my surroundings. What was once silhouetted and hidden in the shadows around me is revealed to me in those few seconds of light - the green leaves on the trees, the pink flowers in our neighbor's gardens, the red shingles on the roofs of the houses across the back alley. The thunder doesn't crash here. It shouts and rolls. With the river a few blocks away, it reverberates in the river valley - gliding its sound along the water's surface. The low tones moan on and on. I can hear them as they travel away down stream. The atmosphere is never silent.
The air has been humid for the last handful of days. I walk outside and it sucks me in and clings to my skin. It wraps me in its suffocating embrace. It fills my lungs and weighs me down. There is a constant heaviness - saturation really. The sweat pours even just standing still. What relief I hope this storm will bring. I know these hot humid days will eventually bring on some big storms as cool fronts push through and violently collide with this hot, heavy, humid air.
As the cold front moves in, the winds pick up. The trees once so still come alive. There is intense energy building as the gust front (the leading edge of cool air rushing down and out of a thunderstorm) pushes the branches over and whips around anything not anchored firmly down. The trees give way to the rushing currents of invisible air - bending and arching - sometimes breaking. I can hear it coming up behind me as it roars through consuming the silence and the stillness. The racing wind pummels through the branches and leaves moving its way up our block and on to the next, and the next - tearing through our yards. My heart pounds as the silent night air is consumed with the raise of the wind bursting through the trees. I have always been afraid of high winds during storms - more so than the thunder and lightening. When I was younger, I thought the wind would literally pick me up and blow me away, yet tornadoes do not scare me. They intrigue me and I have been known to get in my car, cameras in hand, and head off in the direction of the storm hoping to catch one on film. I listen to the weather and have my maps ready so as to not head into the danger, but rather move alongside to witness and document from a safe distance. They have been elusive thus far...
The gust front brings new air - cooler, less humid air. It feels good. In a matter of minutes, the winds die down and the rain comes. Up until now, it's just been a few sprinkles dancing across the yard. Larger drops are beginning to fall. There is that smell of fresh falling rain. It reminds me of new spring after the snow from the long Minnesota winters has finally gone away and the earth is just beginning to awaken. Harder and harder the rain drives coating every dry space within sight. My only partial refuge is under the awning of the house - squeezed up against it to protect me from the rain and flying debris from the wind gusts. The patio now glistens as the light from the shed illuminates the saturated ground. The wind whips the falling rain into a mist and peppers my computer screen with water droplets. It's time to move indoors.
I stand at the back door watching the weather. Sheets of rain race across the patio in sync with the blowing wind as they are directed and driven in various chaotic directions. As the talkative part of the storm ends its conversation with me tonight, I return once again to the living room, settling back in, waiting for the silence to envelop the night and peace to fall asleep to. While storms can be scary and violent, there's something comforting for me in watching them and understanding how they work. It reminds me of my dad. He taught me some of the things I know about severe weather and storms. I remember driving out to back country roads at night with him and watching the storms roll in.
No comments:
Post a Comment