Author: Nan Jones

A ridge of ominous clouds the color of charcoal hung low on the horizon. Heavy with rain. Laden with warm, humid air. Forecasters warned of ferocious winds that would surely howl across our beloved mountains, hurling flooding rains, and toppling trees and power lines in their wake. I sought comfort in the knowledge that God is my refuge.

As I peered out the window toward the setting sun, the wall of clouds darkened, shadowed by the twilight.