Weekly Photo Challenge: Light

The sky after the tornado

New Englanders may think their weather changes by the minute, but I think the Midwest has them beat by a mile. Memories of my childhood include lots of moments just watching the sky change before my eyes. With nothing getting in the way like trees or suburbia, you could see what was ahead of you or what was racing up behind you. Clouds could take so many shapes and colors: green golf-ball shapes that bubbled and black banks of night that inked out the day and white cotton that blanketed the sky. Maybe that’s why the sky still captures me. I always feel its presence when I return for visits because it fills up the spaces so much more there.

This photo was taken in Fargo, ND, in 2004. The city’s tornado sirens had just stopped and I went outside and saw this sky. I found out that a tornado had touched down not far from the university housing where I was staying. I was in North Dakota and Saskatchewan for six weeks that summer and the tornado sirens went off at least four times during my stay. On those wide plains where wind was the only constant, it felt like you had to hold onto the earth with both hands.

Heading Home in a Storm

Jagged rage flicks overhead,
      grumbles in primeval throat.
          Maddened cloaks of sea green
                shroud tunnels of tall corn.
        Truck headlights skitter over
     splintered cottonwood sentries.
You look back at rosy sunset,
           then grind clutch,    
                        spit gravel.  

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