Texas Spring Storm
I woke early this morning to one of my favorite things, a Texas spring storm rolling through.
We had been anticipating the weather all week. Alerts popping up on our phones. Severe thunderstorms expected. Tornado watch. Rain arriving in 30 minutes. The sort of warnings that make most people uneasy, but for me there is always a quiet thrill to it. I love this time of year. I love the drama of it. The thrill in the air. The way lightning cracks suddenly across the sky and makes you jump, the way the lights flicker just long enough to remind you that nature is far bigger than the walls of your house. I love the roar of the wind outside, the way it rushes through the trees, leaves lifting and scattering like confetti across the yard.
But what I love most is that I am inside. Safe. Curled up in bed with my boys, all of us warm beneath the blankets while the storm moves around us like a great orchestra outside the windows. When we first opened our eyes this morning, the light felt different. Softer somehow, but brighter too. A strange rose-gold glow filled the room. I could tell the sun was trying to push through the thunderclouds but couldn’t quite break free.
Curious, I reached over and opened the blinds. And the sky. The sky was breathtaking.
In the distance was the brightest emerald green, that strange storm color that only appears when heavy clouds gather in spring. Above it sat a deep ocean blue, thick and rolling, like waves stacked high in the atmosphere. And surrounding everything was the softest pink glow, as if the whole sky had been brushed with watercolor. And then, lightning. A brilliant flash splitting through the colors.
We stayed there for a few extra minutes, still tangled in blankets, quietly watching the storm unfold. The house creaked gently as gusts of wind pushed against it. Rain began pelting the windows in thick sheets. Thunder rolled somewhere far off, low and steady.
Eventually we climbed out of bed and surrendered to the day. Plans shifted. We were supposed to go to the zoo this morning, but storms have a way of changing things. Instead, today will be a stay-home day. Pancakes on the stove. Coffee brewing. Laundry humming in the background. Movies on the sofa. Little boys tucked under blankets beside me. All the small comforts you lean into when a storm comes to town.
Of course, living in Texas this time of year means storms aren’t only beautiful. Sometimes they carry a little fear with them too. Tornado season is real here, and even though I love watching the weather roll in, I always keep one eye on my weather app, making sure we’re safe. Most of the time, we are.
The closest we’ve come so far was the night a tornado touched down about twenty miles from us. Far enough that we were safe, but close enough to hear the sirens. Close enough to see the clouds twisting in the distance and lightning flashing through the sky.
We watched the weather channel almost the entire evening. When hail was predicted we hurried outside and moved our vehicles into the barn. I gathered supplies and quietly placed them into our storm shelter room, flashlights, blankets, a few necessities, just in case.
The electricity flickered once… twice… and then disappeared entirely. So we lit candles. And waited. Ready, as much as we could be. Thankfully, nothing came our way that night. And this morning feels like one of those quieter storms again. The kind that arrives loudly but passes gently. The kind that leaves the world a little more alive when it’s finished.
So I sit here now, looking out the window as rain pours steadily onto the earth, and I think about what will come after.
The grass will be greener.
The ponds will be fuller.
Flowers that have been waiting patiently beneath the soil will begin to stretch toward the light.
And eventually the clouds will break apart, the sun will slip through, and the whole world will feel washed clean.
Spring.
Right on time.