I’ve heard that in the moments before a tsunami crashes ashore, the sea rushes away from the beach. I’ve also heard that what you don’t want to do at such a time is follow the sea as it rushes out, because it’s coming back with it a bloody big wave. A wave that will lay ruin to all in its path.
The first of two thunderstorms that barreled through my town today was like an airborne tsunami. As the front edge of the thunderstorm hit, it took in a great gulp, a deep inhillation. Air skimmed the ground moving westward for half a minute, in the direction of the storm. The air was moving the wrong direction, like the receeding waters that preface a tsunami.
The wave of inhaled air came back, of course. It brought with it the frothy front edge of a furious storm. A wall of wind plowed through my yard, sending leaves, twigs and bits of bark in circles overhead. There was an electric buzz in the air, an undeniable strength. It was the pure the power of nature.
When the rain came it fell in sheets. Then there was more wind: tree bending, branch breaking, trunk splitting wind. The little northern catalpa in my backyard swayed and bent like a flimsy mop. See for yourself: