Surrounded

A little white exclamation point surrounded by a little white triangle.

Dust Storm Warning, my phone tells me.

Looks like it's gonna be a fun night.

The lightning is a spotlight through the hazy sky. Everything is wind, dust, and the smell of rain. Spotlight, spotlight, spotlight, from all around us.

In front of a gas station an American flag, majestic and grand, ripples in its own spotlight. The standard in a sea of darkness, the reminder of our recent holiday.

We are surrounded. The storm is fearsome, awe-striking, beautiful. Dangerous but wonderful. Bringer of flood and life.

In the car, we are safe. Surrounded by metal sloping sides and rolled-up windows; surrounded by the gentle and pulsing voices of Echosmith; surrounded by the truth of our fears but the comfort of our sanctuary.

I step out of the car into the dark, surrounded by the love for a friend.

I lay in bed. Spotlight, spotlight. It scares me so badly I jump and open my eyes. It is so bright, surrounding me with light as if it were shining from inches outside my window.

The clouds linger this morning from the night's adventures. All around thick, moist air that is hard to breathe, hard to stand in.

And today, and every day, we look to the horizon to see clouds--tall, arcing, trudging--surrounding us.