The tornado replay was a re-experiencing of a tornado I'd dreamed about earlier, I think earlier this week, but that's pretty fuzzy. Same tornado, another experience of it, including knowing it was that same tornado, replaying. A few days ago, between these dreams (I think), I had one awake-life evening watching TV coverage I'd stumbled onto of a tornado making its persistent (hour-plus on the ground) way across northcentral to northeastern Kansas, my part of the state. There's so much more to watch with this kind of TV coverage than there used to be, even a few years ago. It was wild. And 'tis the season.
Tornadoes are, for me, both tornadoes and representations of external dangers. I've written here before of how, years ago, I thought I might have nightmares after a late-night screening of Hope and Glory, which was about growing up during the Blitz in London, and then that night I dreamed not of bombs but of tornadoes, something else scary that comes from the sky, makes you hide and hunker down in some shelter, and might kill ya. And I had a tornado dream earlier this Spring that ended in my being torn apart physically by it---by flying wood bits, actually---while still on the first floor of a house that isn't mine, trying to turn my attention to pets that are mine, after being on the phone with someone and seeing the tornado in the distance.
This is a lot of tornado dreaming.
It's hot and humid, and fronts are moving around, melding and clashing, not far away.
