Sarnia Bound by Susan L.

  I left from work an hour early on Friday so it wouldn't be dark driving down to see my son and his family. Instead of dark, the fog was thick. Traffic lights were barely visible. The cars ahead even less so. I dreaded the next three and a half hours if this was how it was to be the whole way down.
  Not only do I head sort of southwest, but the drive goes downhill. Once out of the "highlands" of home, the fog lifted. Much to my relief.
  We've had record breaking warm temperatures the last little while. Most of the snow is gone except in amongst the thin forests that line parts of the highway. It looked like the last remaining clumps of snow were trying to return to the sky. These frozen patches, caressed by warm air, created swirling pockets of mist that crept across the road.
  All the creeks and rivers were churning and overflowed their summertime boundaries.
  Every sort of rain made me constantly fiddle with the windshield wipers. Sometimes they were only needed sporadically. Other times they needed to be on full force as brief, but mighty torrents of water thundered against the windshield. A combination of muck and mist churned up by passing cars only added to the switch fiddling.
  A little over an hour and a half from my destination, the sky ahead became black and ominous. A rare, mid-winter thunderstorm vented it's fury at being wakened early in the season. Flashes of lightning cut the sky or massive bolts charged towards the earth. The very air rumbled and snarled and echoed the crack of violent, blinding strikes.
  Was this storm going to be between me and where I needed to go? Dread filled my heart.
  It was hard not to watch the fireworks and keep my eyes on the drive. Good thing most of the roads are straight as an arrow. As time and distance were eaten up, the storm, thankfully, moved clear of my route.
  On my right, over lake Huron, was a sky of gold and silver. A small patch of blue played hide and seek with glowing, pristine clouds. I felt I was seeing a glimpse of heaven's sky. It was all the more breathtaking against the bruised purples, grays and greens of the tattered back edge of the storm. This glorious sight didn't last long as the sun disappeared behind another bank of dense, but far less foreboding, dove gray clouds.
  It's a long drive from here to there. I am thankful the Lord makes each trip special and unique.
  "He lays the beams of His upper chambers in the waters, Who makes the clouds His chariot, Who walks on the wings of the wind, Who makes His angels spirits, His ministers a flame of fire." Ps 104:3-4