Last Thursday afternoon, a storm moved through. The wind hit abruptly—hard enough to shake my entire apartment building. An overcast day turned into a dark, scary afternoon in the space of fifteen minutes. The power went out almost immediately, leaving me in the light from the single candle I managed to light before darkness descended.
In my dark and silent apartment, I could hear the building groaning. The trees thrashing. Things crashing to the ground outside. Including the metal plant shelf that lives outside my front door, which scraped down the sidewalk, pushed by the wind. I ran outside to grab it—and my Welcome Gnome mat—and was greeted by a strangely greenish black sky. I know what that green cast to the sky means, so I dashed back inside. And prayed the tornado hidden somewhere in those clouds would miss the people I love.
It did, although some of them had to take cover when the tornado sirens went off. The pictures from that storm on the news are eerie and unsettling, and Friday afternoon, I realized there were trees down in my complex, debris scattered across the parking lot—and strips of shingles in my back yard/patio. We were without power for about three hours, but it could have been so much worse.
With the fear of the storm fresh in my mind and still casting shadows Saturday morning, I moved the herbs and strawberry plants that were living on my kitchen counters outside for a few days. They can enjoy the sunny and warm temps until Thursday, when the next weather change moves through, and I can bask in their greenness and forget my fear of storms. I also raked up all the dead leaves taking cover in my yard and threw the strips of shingles away—because I’d rather forget the storm and focus on the glimpse of green.