Free to Write

The tornado sirens bellow and whine - that undulating high and low. I cover my ears and hunker down. Sofia, the cat, has fled. I only hope she is safe. I have the dogs with me, both crunched in close, quivering. Mama has ushered us into the storm cellar and hushed us. What good hushing us will do is beyond me, but somehow quiet is what I need now. Whispers would be nice, but we have to shout to be heard over the sirens.

I hate the sirens, even more-so than the tornados that ravage through. Somehow the God-noise is more awesome than awful, magnificent in its fury. But the sirens? They chill my stomach and prickle my skin, make the blood roar in my ears. Give me the howl of the wind and snap of the trees over that ghastly wail any day.