Alabama Prayer.

We picked up one storm overnight, maybe two, and the tailing edge of the front coming through this morning gave us what looked like another inch of hard rain as it built one last line of storms directly over us, but we're free and clear now, it seems, or close enough. The video out of Alabama is horrifying, makes it clear that weather is no hobby, makes me rethink those times i've stood in carports and on front porches celebrating storms coming in, trying to get close. This is playing on the reel in my head: how AMR and I would manage to carry two cats, a dog, and a Toad all at once, where we'd carry them to.

We'll be cleaned back out today, less humidified, higher sky, calmer breeze, weather that looks more like the docile azalea spring we always hope for. I'll be driving the Toad to the puppet show for some puppetry I can't get out of. We'll be carrying on what looks like our same lives. Friends and fans of weather, we're lucky. We got lucky again. And maybe that's how to think about it: stand out there, sure, and watch it come in—those times it's safe enough to, anyway—but know that every time you do, you're lucky. Nothing more than that. It's bigger than you are, which means there isn't any other answer.