|image found HERE|
I remember the feel of grass beneath my palm,
raised voices within Grandmother's house,
windows being shut, screen door banging against it's frame
and then a stillness, a dimming of the sky -
not so much dark as just off color
and my mother calling my name;
remember looking toward the small porch
framed with winding vines of red roses
and choosing to remain quiet. I don't know why.
Vaguely remember a voice saying "I found her",
perhaps my older sister. Look back and think,
perhaps this moment was the beginning of fear.
I don't remember descending the cellar
(that's what Grandmother called her basement)
do remember anxious voices, chilly dampness, the dark.
My whole life I've had this foreboding;
every watch, every warning transports me to that
uneasy disquiet as a toddler, looking skyward, transfixed.
by Margaret Bednar, August 26, 2017
I was not quite two years old when this happened, my mother told me (years later when I shared my memory with her) we had moved in with my Grandmother while our house was being built, our previous house having sold. Where we lived in Northern Illinois tornadoes are rare - but this happened to be one that grounded fairly close - I didn't see it but I did feel the change in atmosphere - something I remember to this day.
This is linked with "Imaginary Garden with Real Toads - Fashion Me Your Words to Stretch the Imagination - Natural Disaster" We were also supposed to add what part (the) God(s) play(ed) in the natural disaster. But since this is a real memory and I was so little, I couldn't make that work. So, I twisted the rules a bit (again) I suppose.