I'm Afraid Of Weather by James Navé

I'm Afraid of Weather by James Navé Weather sometimes frightens me when I'm on the road heading west out of Oklahoma City, late afternoon, 500 miles behind me, the sun easy on my face. Weather, harsh weather, not in sight, out of mind. Then, the dark clouds pop up to the south. Mean creatures all black and gray, chewing the blue sky like a swarm of ferocious large bees God invented just to panic me, to turn my drive into a long-range shooting field. Then, from the west, more clouds appear. Where do these clouds come from? What happened to my day? What happened to my blue sky? Where did the sun go? Once these monsters start, they don't stop. God knows this; God sends them anyway. That's just what God does. Soon, the first drops of rain hit. Then bolts of lightning flash across the sky. I'm surrounded by black and lightning and thunder and ice. My heart sweats. My eyes grow thin. My hands dangle from my wrists. Will there be a funnel? Will it suck me out of my car and up into the sky? I try to drive on but can't; I can't move, the storm has captured me. I am still. Rain. Wind. Thunder. Lightning. And me on the road, stopped, going nowhere.