Storm Watch by Susan L.

 Around seven thirty last night the sky grew dark. I went outside with a primordial sense of impending doom to watch the storm roll in. At first the air was still: thick and heavy with the kind of humidity that makes taking a shower redundant. The earth was full of muted, nearly suffocated anticipation as the clouds first inched their way in from the south. Three crows swept past, followed by a flock of starlings racing east. A seagull and a turkey vulture joined the exodus. Sparrows and goldfinches flitted past in the blink of an eye to find shelter in the pines at the side of my yard.
  A slight rustle touched the treetops, their leaves upside down in pleading supplication to the growing intensity of the wind. The soft, inviting cloud blanket from the south hovered overhead, stonewalled by the force from the north. It was overpowered and swept away in a matter of moments. The freshening air felt wonderful on my sweat dampened skin.
  The clouds were roiling and boiling with the colours of a blackened eye. Ragged, dark fingers reached down, swirling and twisting but not a drop of rain fell. I could see it coming, a small glimpse of nearly winter white hidden in the distance by the trees. Except for the wind, the storm was eerily silent.
  The first drop fell. A distance rumble of thunder announced the storm's arrival. I hightailed it into the house to watch from the safety of a window.
  God's fireworks lit up the heavens. Thunder booms and eye wincing cracks put Chinese rockets to shame. Pumpkin nudged my hand for reassurance as he joined me at the window before disappearing under the bed like the last time. Poor fellow. I almost wanted to join him.
  I live right on the edge of tornado alley. It makes me watch the heavens carefully during our notorious summer thunderstorms. Just in case.
  "The Lord of hosts is with us." Ps 46:11