Tornado sirens are wailing outside. But this is not a test. Bullseye is on us.
Inside, on the TV, WFAA-TV meteorologist Pete Delkus directs dire warnings at our neighborhood, a predicted target for a possible twister. Take cover now.
Hail is falling, pounding our windows and roof in blasts that sound like war is upon us.
For the second time in two months we are under weather attack. First, the loss of power for days, now hailstones the size of, well, you’ll see in a moment.
My wife, Karen, is outside in the sun porch making videos for our youngest son, Austin, a weather hobbyist, who is recording a few miles away.
I’ve cleaned out the closet beneath the main stairway, carrying out shoes, vacuum cleaner, unused dog gates, anything in the way of sheltering two adults, two dogs.
Suddenly it feels like the air pressure is dropping. I run to the back door and order Karen inside.
The four of us huddle under the stairway. But not for long. It gets eerie quiet. No more blasts. We wait a moment to be sure, then exit.
“I’ve got to get a hailstone,” she says.
She goes outside, picks one up and runs back inside to the kitchen with her trophy. She looks for something to show its comparative size. She grabs the nearest round object she can find and snaps a photo of the stone beside it. She sends it to our son Austin. Then she goes to WFAA’s app, fills out a form and uploads the photo.
“Good luck, honey,” I say without believing. “You and everyone else.”