Still Intact

As I lay here in the dark  watching television, a siren screams and the television flips automatically to the weather channel. Lighting flashes through the leaded glass of the front door streaking across the rug and over the glass topped coffee table. A ticker tape like crawl of typed information moves across the screen of the T.V. announcing tornado warnings.

I've never been able to remember which one is the more serious. A warning or a watch. As I sit here and mentally debate on this, had a tornado been close I would have been swept away while still thinking about it. The announcer blasts forth with all the parishes involved. Take cover and be alert for the next 30 minutes. As soon as that one expires, again comes the blast of a siren and another warning for the next 30 minutes.

Finally after three of these warnings, I decided to take my night time medications. I swallowed an Ambien. 

I hear the thunder rumbling as it rolls around up there. At times it sounds as though it is rolling away only to reverse it's direction sounding as though it were directly overhead and vigorously clapping it's hand in appreciation of some entertainment viewed. The rain falls harshly and the wind frets with something metallic. A crash of noise and I'm up and moving to the door. When I grasped the door knob and attempted to open the door, the suction  against it warned of the storm that was visiting. 

The rain was blowing in sheets across the driveway, hazy globes of yellow street lights barely visible through the down pour while water buried the street beneath this onslaught. I looked skyward thinking I might be able to see if the clouds were swirling. Socked in. As the weatherman would say, visibility poor.
I crept back to the sofa and lowered the volume on the television, leaving it tuned to the weather channel. I'll stay here and keep an eye on the warnings.
I slept. Maybe I shouldn't have swallowed that Ambien.