Ozrik squeezed reassuringly, diverting his attention briefly. He plucked at the strap on my camera bag. “Take pictures. You’re missing some great shots.”
Too enthralled, I’d forgotten about my camera.
As I got organized, Ozrik laughed and hooted and clapped, dictating like I wasn’t seeing the same thing. “Rotation. We’ve got a rear flank downward draft. Do you see the striations? Fuck, this is so cool.”
He whooped and tore his hands through his hair, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe it. Like it was the first time he’d witnessed a tornado forming, though it wasn’t.
“Holy fuck. Gale, it’s beautiful. It’s so fucking beautiful. This baby is going to produce. I feel it.” He rubbed his arms again, as if it were a physical sensation. “Come on, girl. Come on. You can do it.”
I glanced at the distant sky. The steady roar, the intense rotation, the wind.
Ozrik didn’t have a video camera. He didn’t have his team. Free from any responsibility, he was simply able to watch it unfold, and I wondered how long it had been since he’d had the freedom to absorb at this level.
I snapped pictures, one after another, catching several shots of the extending wall cloud and clear rotation above, but Ozrik was my muse. His expression. His reaction. I caught it all.
As we watched, a section pulled away, and before we knew it, it grew into a distinct cone shape.
Ozrik howled at it, spun in place, then pumped a fist, cheering her on. His energy was contagious, and I howled back.
He turned to me and laughed. “Again.”
We howled together, encouraging the funnel, chanting, “Do it, do it,” over and over.
I aimed my camera at Ozrik, backing up to encapsulate a broader perspective. This was him. The man who reflectednature. Whowasthe storm itself. I didn’t know if his energy would translate, but to be present, to witness it, was a privilege I would take with me.
As I snapped several more shots, Ozrik shouted updates.
The roar of the storm was a freight train, the poisonous sky a witch’s brew.
The funnel stretched to the ground, closer and with more strength than the one we’d witnessed on our first chase of the season.
Only then did I register its proximity. “Are we too close?” I shouted with an edge of panic.
Ozrik shook his head and yelled to be heard. “She’s a mile or so out. This is a good distance. Holy fuck, Gale. Are you getting it on film? She’s going to touch down.” He was practically giddy. “Look at it. Look, look, look.”
I looked. I saw.
The funnel narrowed as it neared the earth, spinning at a destructive velocity. My camera hung forgotten around my neck. I couldn’t focus on pictures anymore and took Ozrik’s hand, needing courage.
When the funnel connected, it sent an explosion of dirt and debris into the air, and my breath caught. “Holy crap.”
“Touchdown!” Ozrik roared, throwing his hands up. He whooped and cheered. “Those assholes are missing it.” He whooped again and repeated over and over, “Are you seeing this? Are you seeing it?”
It was humbling. A phenomenon unlike anything I’d witnessed in my life. I stood awestruck, fascinated by this wild act of nature. Of God.
“Should we go? Are we too close?”
“No. We’re good. She’s weaving that way.” Ozrik pointed.
“Aren’t there houses over there?”
“I don’t know.”
My heart clenched, thinking of its path of destruction.
I snapped a few pictures, speechless.
“She looks like an EF2 or EF3,” Ozrik said. “What do you think?”
