Heavenly Resistance Training

He pushes

I hop humiliatingly

My purse pulls in front at a 450 angle

Hair blows straight forward

Plastic bag speeds past my feet with

tumbleweed pieces chasing

Two hands pull open the car door

He pushes harder

my body shoved against the door

I struggle to enter the car

both hands tug it shut

Car vibrates with His powerful rush

I catch my breath, straighten my hair while

He shoves cloud remnants toward Oklahoma

piling them into a dark stormy horizon

I blow a hair strand out of an eye and

start the car

He still pushes



High Plains Laser Light Show

Concentrated lightning creates energetic, gnarly, skeletal claws underneath both the stars and the bright, sickle moon; and generates bright varieties of barbed, puncturing exclamation marks, taking their time to bore into the ground ahead in the nearby southeast, while we drive home from Dodge City.

Continuous, heavy-duty flashes silhouette distant rain, passing trees, farmhouses, electric poles, and a line of thick, storm clouds—all appearing like on an old movie film, one frame at a time—a natural laser light show, just begging for dramatic war music to play with, since, oddly, it does not produce any booming thunder of its own.

After an hour, we arrive home safely, and the weather station talks about hail up to a quarter-coin in size pummeling the earth under those clouds.

We looked at each other, suddenly feeling fortunate—fortunate to watch a formidable display of power and might without having to experience the damage; a gift not often handed out to people.