I’m not a very religious person, but I am quite spiritual. If there is a higher power, I believe it is rooted in the energy and cycles of nature. Just as authors use weather events to establish mood and foreshadowing in their narratives, I “read” nature for signs of deeper meaning.
Take the night my grandfather died. I was sound asleep in my bed when I woke around midnight to a powerful gust of wind that blew through my open window. It was so strong, it detached my curtains, carried them halfway across my room, and deposited them in a billowy pile on my floor. No storm followed. No lightning. No heavy rains. The intense rush of air was merely an isolated event.
The next morning, my dad called to tell me my grandpa had died in his sleep. We cried and briefly discussed the circumstances of his death. After I asked how my mom and Grandma were fairing, he mentioned the approximate time of Grandpa’s death. Midnight. Even though I lived hundreds of miles away from my grandpa, I believe his spirit was responsible for the freakish blast of wind that blew through my room that night. He came to say goodbye to me.
Imagine my concern today when at 4:30 p.m., foreboding skies appear in the east. Soon winds gust to 50 miles per hour. Heavy rains ensue, blowing sideways and then transitioning to hail. The storm blows out quickly. What remains are high winds and colder temperatures.
I watch the wild scene play out from inside a local eatery. The gods are trying to tell me something. A late March storm like this is unusual and extreme.
A prickle of worry develops. What fates await.