By Cynthia Simmons
(This blog post is off topic, so please skip if you wish.)
It’s well past 8 p.m. on Saturday, June 21st—the Summer Solstice, the first day of summer and the longest day in the Northern Hemisphere.
It’s been both a good and a bad day, with Ups and Downs. Especially weather-wise.
Right now, the sun is shining sideways through cracks in heavy clouds. The wind is slow, gently messing with the leaves on trees I see from my home office window.
The air outside seems relaxed and quiet. Repentant.
Yes: From 5-6 p.m. we had a tornado warning here in Lake County, Illinois. I got a mechanical phone message from my village warning residents to seek shelter. Then an upset-sounding phone call from a very near neighbor. (We share the same driveway.)
Angie is a city girl, from Chicago, and she didn’t know what to make of the mechanical phone message with the tornado warning. We talked. I presented my theory that we are close to Lake Michigan, and the Lake Effect probably includes disrupting tornado movements. I’ve lived in this area forty-plus years, and to date I haven’t been anywhere near a tornado.
While we talked it was raining furiously. But the weather radar map showed only a scattering of heavy, fast moving clouds. They were traveling eastward, like a line of stepping stallions, galloping ahead… but with nothing behind. And so, after furious rain, the weather became calm.
Now I see… A fiery pink sunset, shining on lush, full and lovely green trees and prairie grasses.
Now, the light is falling away. Gray, pensive. Lingering but decidedly leaving. Reluctantly. Shouting to the undersides of the clouds, with violent, energetic pink. I won’t, I must, I protest. My leaving.
Straight, clear north, the sky is empty on the horizon.
And now, we are settling into twilight. After these past twenty minutes, when I began writing.