On Sunday night, I hauled myself- books in tow- to the library to focus on my writing. I had been plugging along fairly well when a voice over the loudspeaker informed that all patrons must relocate in a quickly and orderly fashion to the first floor as a tornado warning had been issued. Initially, I thought it was only a drill, but packed up and obliged the voice, anyway. I lost my steam after sitting in the periodicals room for 20 minutes with 100+ rambunctious students, so I left.
Today brought more storms, "with potential for tornadic activities" the weather channel had advised. I spent part of my morning in Nashville and the weather remained on my mind for the duration of my trip back to the park. Heavy rains and a voice that popped up on the radio announcing the National Weather Service's advisory for tornado watches (and even some warnings) in the area. The varied grey clouds swirled in all sorts of directions as the storm couldn't decide what it wanted to do. At one point, the radio voice announced that the storm may touch down on the road I was traveling at that moment. I was so close to the park, I just kept going and prayed for the best.
Tornado warnings and watches used to be no big thing for me. After living through the [relatively minor] tornado that touched down on Good Friday of 2009, slight levels of panic rise up in me when I hear the piercing beeps of another weather announcement. After seeing what the tornado did, sporadically devastating areas around town and creating some major chaos for the days to follow, I expect the worst when I hear of a potential storm in an area. I love thunderstorms; I love listening to distant rumble, watching the light shows, and feeling the buzz in the air. But when I have been cautioned that the storm could evolve into the potentially deadly funnel, I can only suppress my anxieties so much.
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