I like to keep tabs on storms. Ever since spring when one dropped a tree on my house, I’ve been serious about keeping track of them. You see, we live in an area of the county that they call “Tornado Alley.” And I assure you the nickname is an earned one. Most everybody around here has had tornado damage to their homes at one time or another and the last two big storms we had really tore us up.
Not that I’m complaining about getting some rain. As you all know, we’re in the grip of that long-running drought and my well is starting to run a little shallow. So every drop of rain that falls out of the sky is a welcome one to me, Tornado or not.
But when the air gets unseasonably warm and big clouds start rolling in from the northwest, I like to go outside and see what’s going on.
It was strangely warm outside. I didn’t need my usual January coat. I called up the dogs and we started walking down the road. The blacktop shone like glass under the sheen of an earlier rain. The wind was picking up, making the pine trees bend their heads together and whisper about the coming storm. Down the way, one squeaked like an old bed frame.
I walked for a while on the road watching the heavy clouds dragging across the sky. They were moving fast. I followed the dogs and hopped the ditch, cutting across Pop’s garden plot. I finally settled, sitting on a log- a black oak felled by the last big storm. The dogs flopped down beside me, noses pointing into the wind, sniffing. It was a good place to watch the sky.
Up just above the tops of the trees I saw crows, a quartet of them, playing on air currents. They looped around, wings still and gliding. They were strangely silent in their game- no caw-cawing to disrupt their peaceful flight. High above all of us, almost to the clouds, almost out of sight, a hawk soared. It was too high to be hunting. I imagined it too was flying just for the sheer pleasure of it.
The wind died down and the trees stopped rustling. It became quiet. I heard the crickets buzzing. I heard a strange bird call, its voice sounded out alone in the woods. I heard my gray cat prowling around in the wet leaves behind me, scouring the woods for unfortunate prey. For a few minutes, it was quiet.
I looked up at the sky. I saw the yellow-faced moon and watched the clouds roll over her, shimmering like cotton candy. I took a deep breath found the strong smell of the wet earth. Then I picked out the thin smell of dried grass. And on the wind, I found a kind of tangy smell, like it had come from a far off sea.
My sky watching was interrupted by a blast of warm air. The wind had picked up and was gusting harder than before. It tugged my hair away from my face and leaned the dried goldenrod down in the field. I remained on the log, facing into it. Now, the hardwoods were starting to make noise, clacking bare branches together like bony fingers. The few dried leaves left on the trees rattled loose and blew away. Small branches were beginning to fall to the ground. It was starting to get a little rowdy out there in the woods. Then a heavy gust knocked a large dead branch down a few yards from where I was sitting. That was my cue to get up and head for the house. The storm was coming.
I walked home through the hay pasture. Overhead the clouds poured across the sky- black berry colored clouds, roiling and boiling. I got into the yard and called the geese. They were already heading for the pen, anxious to get into their coop. Up at the house, the heavy windchime was tolling, marking the passing gusts of wind. Hickory nuts had begun to hit the roof of the porch, cracking like rifle shots off the tin. Deep in the woods, a dead pine fell, thudding to the wet ground.
My cell phone rang. It was mama. She and pop had been watching the weather channel on TV and Carroll County had just come under a tornado watch. The storm wasn’t coming. The storm was here.