In a torrent of storm and power
a delicate finger fondles the earth’s surface.
Extends from a dark gray womb reaching out.
Tearing with the force of a lover lost in ecstasy.
A mighty machine born of cloud and air
spending itself on the unsuspecting earth
A distant viewer of a mystical force,
Amazed at the beauty Death’s angel has assumed.
Amazed at the power unleashed before my eyes.
Distance masks the fury, the rage of storms.
Distance masks the horror of life’s reality.
I spent years in the Midwest , in college and then in the air force, and had never seen a tornado. Although, I’d been close to one while I live in Wichita . I remember the sky turning a sickly green. I went outside and the temperature swung back and forth. The wind went from a fierce blow to a deathly calm. Next came the hail – golf ball-sized chunks of ice.
Wouldn’t you know it; I spent two years in Florida during the 1970s and saw a tornado. I was fishing with friends in the Everglades at Flamingo at the southern tip of the park. The sky began to darken – dramatically. We decided to leave and headed north. That’s when I saw it, a delicate finger dipping down from the indigo clouds.