100 Words Writing Prompt #323
Hunkering down for another major snowstorm. I could feel the outer tendrils of it this afternoon – a gray-white brooding sky, dropping temperatures, and that peculiar looming stillness that precedes storms. Though I never can tell if that stillness is imagined, something to do with anticipation.
Several years ago I and about 100 other people were caught outside in a freak storm. A downburst is how they described it after. All I know is that one minute we were all gathered in a huge party tent listening to the rumble of an approaching storm, and then suddenly there was no tent. Just quarter sized hail, screaming children and frantic adults, chaos, flying debris, and a ferocious, shrieking wind that was snapping every tree in its path.
None of us ever really got over that storm. Everyone survived, and miraculously there were few injuries, but ever since many of us have a heightened awareness about weather. There’s always some unconscious part of me sniffing the air, watching the sky – listening with animal senses for Mother Nature’s mood-shifts.
Even so I love snowstorms. Always have. So long as you properly respect snow, I count it as the least damaging or dangerous kind of weather, and when it comes down hard it’s going to softly stop the world for a tiny bit. Keep families home, and tuck everyone in.
Your word this week is:
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