ThunderheadThunderheadThunderhead
“It’s storming in Chicago,” calls the mother to her son, who already knows—he can see the thunderhead, black and towering, gliding above the corn fields. It’s miles away now, in Illinois, but his Hoosier blood stirs with the approach of another Midwestern storm.
While she reflexively checks the radio for tornado warnings, he runs between the cornstalks, feeling the first teasing breezes on the outskirts of the front. The field is empty otherwise; the cardinals have already found shelter, as have the pasture deer.
She calls to him, but knows he i
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