Shelter

The pitter patter of tiny raindrop feet outside, a whirlwind kind of wind. I once heard that storms don't kill people, flying debris kills people. Hail must fall somewhere in between. I've never seen anything larger than an aggie.

They are warning me to stay inside. Seek shelter for the next four and a half hours. I think about the people that don't have shelter to seek. But if you don't have shelter to seek then you probably aren't the kind of person who is told to seek it in the first place. Those people find out the hard way.

I wonder about the eyes of storms. Strange intermissions, those tricky silent sirens. It's going to be fine, they tell you. They always tell you it's going to be fine, but a storm is the only time you know it isn't. At least there's consistency. Waiting for the curtain to bow.

But for now just the children, the little wet steps. Walking and running, running and running, traveling far and wide to end up at my windowsill. I'll leave it open for them, I'll set aside a shirt to soak. I'll stay up the whole night if I have to.