Violent Pink Cotton Candy

These are storm clouds as seen from my back porch last week. One of the best things about living here is our weather. Like anyone else, we complain about it all the time. We tell the same tired old jokes about our weather that you tell about yours - "Don't like it? Give it a minute, it'll change!"

The sand storms suck. Well - blow, actually. Most farmers are using some modicum of soil conservation techniques these days, so they aren't nearly as bad as they could be.

It's hot, of course. But not nearly as hot as the land down off the caprock and besides, "its a dry heat". Hell yeah, its dry.

But we also have cool, calm mornings, summer nights that last half the year, and incredible sunrise and sunset light shows and the biggest canvass God ever made to view them on. And of course, storms.

This is tornado alley. We love to make fun of the Chicken Little-esq Weathermen and all their goofy gadgets. They interrupt regular programming at will and stay "Live On The Air" until the wee hours in hopes of being the first to find a tornado. There is radar and satellite imagery. There is a small armada of storm chasers who constantly phone in reports, sightings and digital pictures. They are an excitable cadre of boy scouts and you'd better get out of the way if you see them careening down the backroads. They're watching the skies, not the traffic. Its all fun and games until they start talking about your county and how the storm is headed for your house and then you're glad they're there.

Last month we made national news (slow news day) because we had 10 tornadoes in a single evening. Tonight is supposed to be much the same.

We'd planned to go camping this weekend. We were headed to Caprock Canyon tonight. Then we watched the Wednesday night news. The Weatherboy said this was a first - the national weather service issued a warning of a moderate risk of severe storms for Friday night. He'd never seen them issue any kind of a warning three days early. Hmm...could that be a sign?

Also, Jackson and I have concluded there is someone in Silverton, a town not far from the canyon, that just ain't living right. They have gotten their butts kicked by every storm we've had this year. Any cloud that forms any where between here and Albuquerque heads straight down their gullet. Perhaps this is not a good night to be there. In a tent.

So we'll sit around the house, watching the weather dudes and arguing whether or not my motorcycle is under the carport far enough to avoid hail damage. I'll probably mope around the front door considering the viability of throwing myself on the flower beds as a means of saving the plants. But they'll grow back. It won't be boring. And it will always be gorgeous.