storm comin'

I harvested about half my remaining sloe crop. Just in case.

And I discovered those of us who watch the weather channel aren't the only ones who knew a storm was comin'. Or that it was time to hunker down.

(And yes, for those of you who look at file names, I know that isn't a katydid. But that's what we kids grew up calling lacewings, so that's what I still call them.)

Tuesday, after coffee with an old friend and finishing the monthly reports, we headed out to collect wing barrels. Opting for one of the shorter routes that would keep us on asphalt.

The impending storm front was already hanging over the north mountains, rising and falling on their peaks, leaving traces of white each time.

As we retrieved the farthest barrel and turned back south towards home, the cold arctic air mass finally broke through the gap between mountain ranges, and came pouring into the desert basin like a slow motion pyroclastic flow of white.

Racing us home.