The wall cloud hung low
As we moved down the dry two lane highway
Knowing we’d hit the storm, first in minutes then in seconds.
It hung so low that pieces
Kissed the earth with gentleness.
The kind of cloud that breeds tornados, hail and other nice things
That love to make us feel out of control.
Pushing down black bubbles the size of a small farm.
Pulsing
So slow
A thing born of winds
Alive only to unleash its terror.
Maybe now.
Maybe later.
We moved under and it went night.
The car became our only scrap of safety
Small and frail with two sleeping children
Undisturbed by the upward violence
And Elizabeth of twenty months feeling something
Wrong,
Not sleeping at all.
I watched above
You watched ahead
And we passed into
The storm
Today’s photo is a detail shot of a window. The original photo was a through away until I zoomed in on just the window and just fell in love with the color and texture.
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