Back in Norman, OK, (see ’The Great Ice Storm of ’07’ at ’narrative of the voyage of the bloody, snake chariot’ at myspace/jahdep) here in tornado alley, April is a cruel month of violent weather.
The season changes. The atmosphere is a boiling, stirred witches’ brew of hot, cold, yin, yang, wet, dry, positive, negative polarity, creation, destruction, revelation, trouble and toil. And the whirlwind comes down from the green thunder clouds, the sirens sound and tornado touches the world.
Everybody who lives here long enough will have their story of when the whirlwind touched their world. Inevitably there is a fascination. Some even chase IT. Some do not have to go a step out of their way to reap IT.
There has been a series of particularly notable tornado seasons. Now, every weather prediction of rain is a prediction of thunder and lighting. Every prediction of thunder and lighting is a prediction of the whirlwind.
At this time all are, to some degree, soldiers who survey the lay of the land for scare holes, fox holes, places to flee where the whirlwind is less likely to reach down from the sky to touch the lives and plans of mice and humans.
[read blog-style -- first entry at bottom of page]