It was 86 degrees at sundown today. The sky looked angry, and the wind out of the west bent the pine and poplar over almost to the ground, but not one drop of rain came.
When I walked down to leave corn for the deer, a pine limb as big as a Louisville Slugger baseball bat fell not three feet away. I was happy that it didn't smack me on the head, as I would probably have spent the evening in the ER and missed the rain that eventually came.
The weatherman was on the TV pointing to big red and yellow globs on the weather radar and jabbering about wind sheer, wall clouds and other stuff to the south of us.
I could hear thunder pounding closer by the second. The lightening was flashing so fast it looked as if Lady Gaga had just driven into our driveway and a thousand paparazzi photographers were waiting.
After the worst had passed, the weatherman said that a tornado had just passed over our house and was headed for a community just north and east of us. Well THANKS A LOT BUBBA!!! I thought. That would have been good information about ten minutes ago.
As it turns out, we haven't had any damage yet and the rain is rattling the roof even as I type.
Tonight, I am grateful. I'm grateful that, for the most part, there hasn't been a lot of physical damage from the storms, and I'm grateful our thirsty land got a refreshing drink.