Whether Pattern
Better walk all the way to the top of the meadow. Up there I can see the thunderheads cresting the adjacent hollow. From which direction is it advancing, and will it venture over the ridge for a visit? Rumbling all afternoon. Is it bluffing?
My Val sits nervously next to me. He'd rather cower under the bed, but I like to climb to the back of my land. I want to feel the tenseness in the wind. It’s busy, buzzing and bothered. Now I can not only hear it coming, but feel it as well. We should go. We are on the high ground, but I’ve seen them turn at the last moment too many times. I will wait through the electric tingle of its preamble until I can feel the mist of the storm’s ante.
Then, there it is; that moment when it turns to look at you as if it sees you. No more questioning whether the weather will approach. You know those moments. When doubt is instantly replaced with certainty. When you go from nausea to vomiting. You’ve had that thought. Am I really going to throw up? The moment occurs and next thing you know, you are seeking a trash can with the speed of an ER gurney.
What beauty there is in the precision of decision once we realize we are headed for an imminent collision. One of the few times in life when it's black and white. You know exactly what to do. What’s wrong, what’s right.
Run home!