They roll in and turn day into night.
Lightning can light up the entire sky from a storm rolling over the plains hundreds of miles away.
The thunder arrives minutes later, still loud enough to rattle the windows as much as a passing train.
The people of Missouri wait with apprehension.
They have seen storms like this before and know what is lurking just over the horizon.
People huddle in their basements as the sirens wail their warning.
They cower in dark moldy corners infested with spiders, Clutching flashlights with half-dead batteries that will not last through the night.
Children and wives cry in fear, while husbands choke back tears in a show of strength.
All is quiet for a moment.
a false sense of hope sweeps through the family,
until the hail starts to fall.
It is quiet at first, a gentle cackling sound from behind the cement walls.
The sound begins to grow louder, and it is transformed into the sound of a hundred thousand stones falling from the heavens.
The power is out now, and the flashlight is fading.
The light it gives now can only be seen as a dim reflection in the tears running down the children's faces.
The wind is deafening.
It drowns out the noise from the siding and shingles being stripped from the house.
Gods breath has arrived at their door step, and nothing will keep it out.
In a deafening and terrifying 30 seconds, the roof is lifted from the house.
Exposed and weakened the walls are blown outwards as the contents of the house are shredded and scattered over an area the size of a football field.
As quickly as it began, it is over.
The sun is out now.
The birds are chirping.
The family crawls out from their dark moldy corner shaken and bruised.
Their entire world is spread out in the lawn before them in a jumbled pile of broken and shattered memories.
Their house was the only one the leviathan touched.
I'm not sure where that one came from. I was sitting on my deck tonight, watching a storm come toward Missouri from the west. It's amazing how far away you can see a storm coming from here. And how loud the thunder can be from a lightning strike hundreds of miles away. It's a deep gradually rising thunder punctuated by an immense crack with an abrupt end. It's like nothing I've heard before. I hope to see a tornado here at some point. I feel that they might be the only thing worth seeing out here. I lack the sense of fear that most people have, nor do I have a healthy flight response to danger. It's replaced by an uneasy fascination, and an unwillingness to miss something truly spectacular. I worry sometimes, that might not be the best combination of traits when a writhing and twisting funnel of 300 mile an hour winds is bearing down upon you. But I never worry too much. It would most certainly be a hell of a way to sign off. one last great ride before the darkness. sp�ter.