When I stepped off the front porch
one of those little thunderheads . . .
wasn't little any more, but spanned the
western sky, black as ink, less than
western sky, black as ink, less than
three miles away. And right across its
nearer rim, low, very low, a mile-long
scud-cloud was sliding along. It was
moving swiftly eastward, and the
whole cloud had done something I had
never heard of before. It had made a
right-angle turn in the sky and was cutting
across the wind current which
definitely had not slackened. I went to
the porch and yelled for my wife.
I did not know she had come out, till
she spoke and scared me. "You sounded
urgent, so I hurried the children out ...
Oh!" She had seen the storm for the
first time. "What a terrible cloud!" I
looked around and saw our four children
standing on the porch. She said
nothing further for the moment, but I
felt her hand touch my arm in a muted
question.
The squall, which was now about two
miles away, was coming directly toward
us, and the scud-cloud stretched across
its front between 400 and 500 feet above
the earth, was revolving as if it were being
pushed in reverse along the ground.
Behind the scud-cloud a curtain of
dark, green rain was falling in a solid,
opaque wall.
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