It was an unusually hot and humid day in Aurora, Nebraska. I entered the school bus, took a window seat near the front and waited for the driver to start his long route towards home. Looking out of the window I watched as the clouds darkened and swirled, twisting and turning in waves of various shades of grey and black. Then the rain came, light at first, and only minutes later in huge bulbous drops that pelted the windshield. Not long after, hail began to fall, starting as tiny chips of ice and quickly becoming golf ball sized chunks that were banging hard against the metal roof.
Stop after stop, parents hurried their children away from the bus and into waiting vehicles, each of them determined to make it to safety before the severe weather hit. Lightning cracked again and again, frightening the remaining children who shrank away from their illuminated windows. Mr. Gerald, the bus driver, was doing his best to reassure us that it was better to continue the route than to return to the school. Looking back on it now I guess he knew we’d never have made it in time.