Growing up in Ohio, I knew storms as all day, slow and steady, events. Clouds bursting with rain moved at a leisurely pace, and sirens usually meant playing in the basement for a few hours.
Then I moved to Texas.
Everything is bigger and fiercer in Texas, including her terrifying storms. Clear blue skies streaching as far as the eye can see can be quickly overtaken by angry swirling clouds. Movie-worthy lightning sprints through the sky, tipping over mighty oaks as if they were no more than matchsticks. Hail as big as softballs, yes softballs, slam into the earth and anything left upon it.
Then it’s over.
The rages of the Texas skies come and go without warning. A clear radar can suddenly errupt with bombardments reminding one of a war map upon a general’s desk.
Insurance companies hate Texas.
Roofers love Texas.
After months of dry and near misses with grass fires, the storms have begun to grace us with their presence. While wildfires are a thing of the past for our area, we have reunited with the storm radio and have given the tornado room a good cleaning for those thirty minute sessions of visitation.
One of the boys said it best as we hunkered down in the concrete cell, “if it ain’t somethin’, it’s another.”