There was a day the sky went green in my childhood. I was as old that day as my daughter was this week. To tell the truth, it only went green for a few moments, as I tore through Halcyon Park from my friend’s house back to mine. We had been told that a green sky was a sign of a tornado. I wanted to get home, just to be in my home, whatever was befalling us that summer day. That’s where kids should be, right? I’ll never forget the intensity and unpredictability of the wind on that run home.
The first thing I wanted to do when I got there was run up to see my grandfather’s ancient-looking barometer. Would its thin needle-indicators be quivering at the edge of their reach, pointing urgently at the calamity ready to swallow us?
Comments