Ma Nature unleashed a little hell-on-earth last night, our township bearing the brunt of it.

It hit with a wall of water, 60-70 mph sustained winds. The flowering plum bent, bent so much we feared we’d lose it. The treeline along the road waved like demons in ecstasy.

It was terrifying.

The horses were in the barn, and I cannot begin to imagine what a metal pole building sounded like at the height of the storm. One small miracle, we never lost power, though many others did.

Firstborn reports trees down so I expect to hear the happy whine of chain saws soon.

Here’s a taste of STORMAGGEDON


About Nya Rawlyns

Crossing boundaries, taking no prisoners. Write what’s in your soul. It’s the bass beat, the heartbeat, the lyrics rude and true. Nya Rawlyns is the pseudonym of a writer who cut her teeth on sports-themed romantic comedy and historical romances before finding her true calling in the wilderness areas she has visited but calls “home” in that place that counts the most: the heart. She has lived in the country and on a sailboat on the Chesapeake Bay, earned more than 1000 miles in competitive trail and endurance racing, taught Political Science to unwilling freshmen, and found an avocation in materials science. When she isn’t tending to her garden or the horses, the cats, or two pervert parakeets, she can be found day dreaming and listening to the voices in her head.
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