Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! Rage! Blow!

(Side note: a surprisingly large number of Shakespeare’s plays mention or feature storms; conversely, a surprisingly small number of the works of his contemporaries do so. So concluded my decidedly unscientific mental survey of Renaissance drama the last time I found myself quoting this line: in the middle of the run of my first Ironman triathlon, when it rained and hailed so hard I could barely see five feet in front of me.)

It’s been a Lear-like day, weather-wise, around here: at least 7 tornadoes were sighted in the area, with several communities suffering widespread devastation unusual for this part of the world.

I’m hugely fortunate to have been well away from the tornado zones, and to have watched the rain pound the streets and cars parked thereon as if I were in the middle of a gigantic car wash, with water coming in sheets from all directions.

For a brief moment after the tumult, there was a glimpse of sunshine this afternoon. I couldn’t help but wonder, though, at how stark that light must look to those south and west of here faced with piles of rubble where homes and businesses used to be.

A terrible beauty, indeed.

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