Lightning!

 

No sooner had Stations of the Cross and the obligatory Lenten meal and class finished than it began to rain. Not heavily, but the drops were big, Texan style. Then the wind picked up and ominous rumbling filled the air. Thunder, like the sound of guns along the Oder Front, or Deep Purple.

Lightning began to arc, illuminating clouds which scudded across the firmament of heaven as night turned to electric day. It was easy, at that moment, to believe in the Electric Universe. Roll on, Nicola Tesla.

In other news, it's the Feast of the Annunciation of the Blessed Virgin Mary tomorrow. Here's the Collect:

WE beseech thee, O Lord, pour thy grace into our hearts; that, as we have known the incarnation of thy Son Jesus Christ by the message of an angel, so by his cross and passion we may be brought into the glory of his resurrection; through the same Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

 

Somehow this seems apt in the storm and my mind goes to  I beheld Satan as lightning fall from heaven.

God bless,

LSP

Deluge

Thunder and lightning cracked the sky, shaking the house while  sleet whipped against its weathered wooden walls. That's right, thundersleet, the opening salvo of a Scandanavian death metal band and all at zero dark thirty.

I had to shout at Alexa, Alexa Jones, "ALEXA, TURN OFF WHITE RABBIT." What was the point; you couldn't hear Grace Slick anyway, over the fury of the elements.

One cup of hot tea later, the team was in the rig and advancing to contact through the flooded streets of this once tranquil rural Texan haven. Good thing we had a truck. Then, at an obligatory stop for coffee at the Shamrock Pick 'n Steal, the thundersleet crashed down.

BOOM. It was like a sledgehammer or the Russian guns on the Oder front. But the barrage subsided after an earsplitting frenzy. I reassured the cowering Pick 'n Stealers, stand steady! all the while calmly sipping coffee from a Yeti mug. You can't show fear, it spreads panic.

Then it was back to the Compound through the flood. Armed? Better believe it.

Stormbringer,

LSP

Storm Front

Maybe it's because we don't pay enough carbon tax and don't have a ban on hi-cap magazines, but for whatever reason, it seemed like we were losing the War on Weather this morning. 

The sky began to turn green and the air became still in the Ozlike light. Very much the calm before the tornado which didn't come, although the rain did. Like a deluge. That meant I didn't go visiting this morning because I had to make the compound's sturdy tornado bunker (basement) available to the public.

Then the storm passed over and I made my rounds, visiting the sick, the dying and the bereaved. There's no shortage of these, unfortunately. But still, it meant stopping by a fine restaurant.

It also meant gauging the exponential growth of a chicken operation, and running cattle, to say nothing of pondering the militia presence in the local Walmart car park. 

It's all going on in the countryside, I tell you.

And the the storm is by no means over.

LSP

Thunder Sleet

I thought Thunder Sleet was just a Scandinavian death metal band, but now I know better. It's a vicious weather front, and it moved into this small country town sometime last night. 

Blue Shredder

No one is outside and the only sound that breaks the eerie silence our once thriving farming community is the sound of crazed peacocks, far-off sirens and sleet, washing down on abandoned Dodge pickups.

Good idea, LSP, shoot the sleet.

Here at the Compound we're cleaning guns, loading magazines and roasting joints of meat. I'll drive to the trading post later, for news, barter and supplies.

Ammunition is our currency.

LSP