As I worked on my latest novel, random thoughts came and went; none relevant to my writing. But suddenly typing fingers stopped as one of those free-flying thoughts took me to a different time and place in my life.
It was a sunny day on the cotton farm where I grew up on the South Plains of Texas, circa 1965. The sky darkened quickly in the northwest. Nothing out of the ordinary, just another early spring thunderstorm heading our way.
As my fingers rested idly on the keyboard, the snapshot-in-time turned into a memory that blossomed into an odd, but factual, story.
I picked up my pace to roll a thirty gallon barrel of naptha into the barn as Dad had ask me to. By the time I finished the chore, the sky darkened with an approaching sandstorm in advance of a frontal system creating a squall line of indigo blue clouds adorned with lightning coming into view behind the roiling brown cloud. Again, no surprise. Just a seasonal thing.
But when the sky turned dirt brown in the yard, a phenomenon raised the hair on my arms at the same rate visibility disappeared. It was deathly calm, no wind whatsoever. It was as if God was slowly pouring dark brown flour over the earth. It was pure dust that hung in the air and seemed to be without movement. The brown fog made it impossible to see the house, only about fifty feet away. I walked slowly in the direction of the house. Visibility was so poor, I almost walked into it before I saw it. I turned and looked back toward the barn and marveled at the sensation brought on by this aberration of nature. I realized I was covered in dust. I slapped my shirt-front and a small brown cloud drifted off of me.
I noticed the brown fog was becoming disturbed. A breeze began moving it southeastward. The entire experience lasted about five minutes without change. A sudden harder gust caused visibility to return and much grittier sand began to blow, stinging my face. The thunderstorm was about to move across the farm. I stepped up onto the porch and watched it cleanse the air, accompanied by a few hailstones. I heard the screen door behind me squawk as Mom stepped outside. "Boy, that was really something," I said.
She eyed me up and down. "Yeah. It was."
I began to walk past her into the house.
"Oh no you don't. You're not going into the house like that."
"Like what?"
That's when I got a beat-down with a broom.
