Stormy weather. Really stormy.
I grew up laughing at tornado sirens—I can't remember a single weather event in my childhood that saw us sheltering below ground—but when Calvin was five the sirens stayed on so long we finally did corral the the animals, and ourselves, to the basement. I know the sirens don't change, but they had just seemed more urgent that day. My father called my cell phone (this was before the popularity of texting) to make sure that we were in the basement. My father, who led the laughing back in the day. And when we emerged to ground level a half hour later it took some moments to realize that the pink froth decorating our yard was insulation—the remnants of homes from just a quarter mile away.
Our relationship with weather has never been the same since. I still lvoe thunder stroms, but I think twice now when the wind seems intense, I stay up monitoring my phone if storms are in the area overnight, and I never, ever, ignore a siren. And while Calvin has overcome his learned fear of storms (he loved thunder before that day), he retains a certain unease through inclement weather. Both he and Gimli are generally comfortable with rain and rolling thunder, but high wind and loud booms set them both on edge.
Tonight was the worset summer storm we've experienced in years. It was the first time the sirents have gone off in years. It amounted to nothing more than a brief power outage (longer for others, but this is no February ice storm) and a lot of lost limbs, even some trees, but it certainly caused some concern in the household and found us laughing nervously in the basement for a while.
And then we all emerged into a calm, wet world (no scattered insulation), where these two took stock of the post-storm situation, and comfort in each other.
365_2023, 
