I spent the morning out in the yard pulling weeds. I’m a lackadaisical weeder at best, but they’d finally gotten to the point where I could no longer convince myself they were “helping the garden.”

After a few hours of that, I grabbed a quick lunch and sat on the front porch covered in dirt, drinking coffee and watching some honeybees working the Russian Sage.

The neighborhood was traffic, crows, and thunder.

As I write this, there’s a slight breeze, a quickening rain, and a tornado warning for the next half-hour or so. But the cat is sleeping comfortably, and the air is full of birdsongs, so at least for now, it appears that we’re okay.

My intentions are to get back out there and cut the grass once everything blows through. That’ll probably take another hour or two, so I’m content to sit here typing away, listening to the rain and the rumble of the thunder.

When I was a kid, thunderstorms used to terrify me. I remember wrapping a pillow around my head so I wouldn’t be assaulted by the noise. Now, the fiercer they are, the more I love them. Apparently, there are some things in life we begin to make peace with as we get older…