Morning Thanks--We got by

We got by.

So far.

Spring storms are phenoms you can count on out here. Every April they march through; even May isn't out of the ordinary. But this one's a monster. Last night the wind rattled our cage then battered us relentlessly, creating so much hoopla I couldn't sleep. Every clock in the house that isn't battery-run is flashing--somewhere along the line the power went down.

Remarkably--I expected the worst--we have no snow, maybe a dusting. For reasons known only to Mother Nature, the heart of the first offensive (we're not out of it by any means) swooped north after putting some eighteen inches down around Mud Butte, South Dakota (yes, there is such a place), which, if you're searching, is just a bit west of Eagle Butte, where I've got friends. Must be a mess there out the front windows.

There's more of everything on the way, weather casters promise; but the half that swept over the plains west of here roared and howled and screamed like a terror but otherwise pretty much left us alone. It's still dark out, but both of the bird feeders are still swinging, hard as that is to believe. Yesterday, in Colorado, someone clocked a straight-line gust at 107 mph. Not to be believed, unless you lived through it.

If it matters, experts claim this rampage isn't a "bomb cyclone," as defined by people in the know. For it to be such--IF IT MATTERS--the pressure in the storm has to drop 24 millibars in 24 hours. And it hasn't. So there. If it matters.

Here 'tis. Right now.

It's a huge comma over the country, but it's curled around us. We're not in its fist or its eye. Our friends in South Dakota certainly are. Again.

That I'm thankful for this house holding up against the war that raged outside last night doesn't mean I'm not thinking about those weren't so blessed. It looks like a ton of ranchers in Nebraska and South Dakota, ravaged by the last storm, a legitimate bomb cyclone, are getting hit once again, as we speak. 

Out west of here, and south a pace, among the truly storm-tossed, is where a loving God needs to be spending his precious time. If I've got any comfort coming, I'll gladly pass it along to them, who were wondering about putting things back together again even before this massive spring storm sprung.

Here--so far at least--we got by. For that I'm thankful.

But there's more to come, and we've got flood warnings too. 

The cat came up on my lap twice since I sat down. He spent the night in garage--his choice, by the way. Must have been brutal out there. Now he's fast asleep, having decided to stay close. He's had enough.