I watch as the clouds billow and rumble overhead. The oppression of the sun's ominous fury has been squelched by these merciful pewter masses. Leaves scorched by drought and sun swirl slowly to the ground as a soft breeze begins to ripple over the prairie grass and through the Honey Locust trees.
The farm is eerily quiet - not a bellowing cow or a chirping cricket - just the sound of the wind. The sweet smell of impending rain is muddled by the acrid stench and sage brush and ripe vines full of gourds. Though half devoured by this summer's plague of ravenous grasshoppers, they still manage to perfume the air with their strange familiarity.
As the windmill at the old Thomas place creaks and groans back to life in the wind, I wonder what early settlers on this prairie thought when these thunderheads rolled across the plains. Today, this late afternoon prairie tempest has stirred the drought stricken prairie to life. Against the slate colored sky, the golden grasses of the dry fields almost seem green. The barn cats have began to mingle in the yard and the pasture cows are now grazing up against the fence nearest the house. They know what is coming.
I look at the row of mangled trees just across the dirt road from our farm house and consider, with reverent respect, the potential fury that I know exists in the Oklahoma sky. The booming clouds draw nearer and speak louder and I am reminded of the security of our storm cellar. As the plains interact with the wind and the rumbling sky, it paints a picture of a much younger prairie. From my seat on the porch, all I can see is sage brush and love grass whipping and nodding in the breeze. I see a trail that the cattle have tromped that slinks and wanders into a large thicket.
A wall of clay colored dust rises from the thirsty road and pings and scuttles as it hits our prairie home and metal outbuildings with stinging force and at this moment, I know what my great grandfather felt as he looked out on this very same rugged piece of land almost 100 years ago. I connect with this land in the same way you connect with an old friend. No matter how long you are away, when you finally meet again, it feels like you never left. I am comforted and reassured that just as the storms and and tempests of life may bring destruction and desolation, in this moment, this prairie tempest reminds me of where I came from and who I really am.
