Several times last night and in the wee hours of this morning, the screaming NOAA weather radio jolted us awake. First, around 9:00 p.m., came an announcement of the issuance a flash-flood warning for Garland County, where we live. Then, around 11:30 p.m., a tornado watch. And, around 3:00 a.m., another flash-flood warning.
Our radio does not offer a gentle alert of impending weather events. Its blood-curdling screams awaken buried terrors that rest deep within, hidden under flesh and bone so deeply that only the sound of that screaming radio can uncover them. Though the sound of that radio causes a startle reflex that could fracture the bones in one’s chest, it’s good to know the thing works so well.
All night long, the cracks and subsequent rolling growls of thunder roused me out of a deep sleep, but I quickly fell asleep again, even though my eyelids could not block out the lightning flashes that accompanied the sounds. But the screaming radio did not permit me to get comfortable with the noise; unlike thunder, it is not background music to difficult dreams.
I awoke this morning to the sound of rain pounding hard on the roof. The assertive beating of raindrops on the roof can be deafening, but not after a night of a screaming radio; then, those sounds become gentle music.
