I don't know how this challenge works, but here are my 4 seasons, w/ 4 pics. The Challenge link: Seasons Challenge I've begun commenting, and I'll get to everyone this week---I promise. Thanks so much for your visits, they mean the world to me! Peace and health, Mark ------------------ For those interested, here is a (slightly dramatized) description of a big Midwestern storm. As best as I can describe it: Pleasant day. Suddenly the sky turns dark---in minutes: It's that fast: It's 2 in the afternoon, but suddenly it's 3 in the morning. It's that fast. Day turns to night in a flash. Then the sky turns pea-green. An angry color. A mean color. If you're out in this, this is when you begin to feel terror. Then the wind stops---more terrifying. It gets still: Nothing moves. It's silent...life stops...clocks stop. (Ok, clocks don't stop, but it feels like they do.) You turn cold with fear. If you're out, you run to get inside---anywhere, anyplace there's protection. It's like the world is sucked into a vacuum, and you know something's about to happen: When will it hit, when will it 'break'? You freeze, you hold your breath. (Tick, tock, tick, tock) Then: KA-BOOM! The sky opens up and hell rains down. The winds are torrential, branches fly, trees crack---they literally crack and some fall---and debris: If you're near any, you run for cover 'cause this stuff flying around could kill you. Objects become flying daggers. And a huge roar: The winds get so fierce they'll blow you a block before you get thrown into a wall, a tree, whatever. It's deafening. Suddenly you find an awning, a porch, anything---after crashing through broken umbrellas and every newspaper and flier since 1400, now strewn across the streets along with branches, bark, uprooted plants, anything...And you stand under the awning and watch the water pour down in torrents, coming down in sheets. And the water's deafening too. Windows behind you now rattle so badly, you're convinced they're gonna blast out of their frames and hit you in the back. Some break loose. The sound is unimstakable. You duck. Now you know you're in the thick of this beast. If you had any doubt...it's gone. Occasionally you see a person across the street---poor soul, they could be from the Yukon but they got blown all the way down to Chicago from the huge winds. (I'm exaggerating, but not too much. Remember: This is tornado country!) And you look: That brave soul is forging forward, head first---like a torpedo---their hair blowing like God's in Michelangelo's Creation, their coat blowing half into oblivion, not knowing where there going or what they're about to hit. And you wanna shout: "Go forth, brave warrior! We're cheering you on!" You don't shout this because 1) they won't hear you for the life of you, and 2) you'll sound like a complete idiot. But you think it. Everyone becomes a hero in these storms: If they're out in this deluge, they're a hero. The streets now resound with the blast of rushing of waters...but then comes the thunder: Omg---this is thunder way close: It's so loud, the ground shakes. You shake. Your heart stops. Everytning in Midwestern storms is in Italics. It's explosive. Then the lightning comes, and it lights up the dark in blinding neon blasts: You think: If one of you bolts touches me, you are finished! (Yeah like that'll stop it...) And some of it so close, you can see its 'veins'. (Lightning has veins---up close, lightning has veins; and they're exquisite.) And what really riles you is that when lightning strikes, you gotta wait a minute before the thunder follows: You just wait, clutching whatever's near you, until it hits: CUH-RACKKKKKK!!! Your blood shoots out of your veins. It's breathtaking. This goes on for 20 minutes, when---suddenly: It's over! Done! It's that fast! Everywhere, the sound of water cascading off of awnings...and the delicious sound of water splashing on pavement: flat, slapping sounds, mixed with the fragrant new smell of flowers exuding their scents as if for the first time in creation. Then you walk out---hesitantly, looking every direction---and step into the sun, which is so exquisitely warm; your muscles like steel, your body like stone from standing crouched over and terrified for so long. The world smells like the Garden of Eden, water is everywhere, rushing down the streets like ecstatic kids...and while it was cold during the storm, the heat now returns: It hits like an oven---but with this heavenly new-spring everywhere, you welcome it... And then you see the aftermath: Trees are down, windows are broken, debris are plastered against walls (News never looked so flattened, so forlorn). People inch their way into the world, terrified it'll 'return' (it won't); and life slowly returns as the world smells like it was created anew, and you feel liberated, released, blessed. That---with a wee bit of exaggeration---is a major Midwestern storm. My first photo is one of those. (Over Lake Michigan. That storm broke about 15 minutes later---and it was a doozy.) That's my season offering... ------------------