Looking up from Mac to see that the sky had turned suddenly, frighteningly dark, I just walked outside to stand on the front steps and survey the oncoming storm.
The wind had died down, and hardly a leaf stirred. Instead, they seemed to curl into themselves, seeking shelter in fragile stems and thin branches.
Now, back on my bed inside, I can feel the storm changing the pressure in my ears, slowly creeping over the house; it will situate itself perfectly before it strikes.
In the meantime, I’ll be trading summer shorts and sandals for a sweatshirt and a blanket shawl. I’ll be reading Tom Sawyer with a flashlight, and making a cup of tea in the microwave.
I’ll be constantly, obsessively, checking the online weather radar.