The sky is steely blue and getting steelier as the silver-gray of the coming storm flushes the expanse from horizon on up. The hummingbirds are strangely quiet as they balance-dip their beaks into the feeder. The wind is almost still on one side of the Osage orange tree, and ruffling itself to distraction on the other side. The car windshields are a bit wary, having heard the predictions for 60 mph winds and penny-size hail.
It’s been a while since a big storm came my way, mostly because I was out of the way in Vermont and Maine where, beautiful as it was, summer weather is tamer. Not quite enough heat or space, particularly that big spread of land between here and the Rockies where a line of storms can pick up a lot of energy and speed. The radio tells us what exits of the interstate are affected as well as the long list of counties.
Although the storms may not get here for two or more hours, we all know it’s coming, the gravel driveway, the hungry flowerpots, and me. As the temperatures drop and winds pick up, we exhale, happy to be here.