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

Nya Rawlyns doesn’t write typical romance. She writes emotion as a contact sport, rough and often raw. It need not be pleasant, heart-warming or forever after. What she seeks is what lies beneath—a dance of extremes, the intersect of need and desire, and the compromises we make when pain and pleasure become indistinguishable. ***** 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 three pervert parakeets, she can be found day dreaming and listening to the voices in her head.
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