Perfect Storm

To get to Chicago, we balled the jack along the vacuous highway 88 that runs right through the endless cornfields of Iowa right into the urban jungle for miles and miles. Along the way, we hit a massive thunderstorm, which we could see hovering above the horizon for miles and miles and miles, like a dark, sinister mountain range of some strange kind waiting to swallow our souls. When it finally engulfed us, it was like driving into a prehistoric ocean. Darkness swallowed us up. Lightning forked all around us. Winds howled. Rain blew sideways. For a few minutes I was certain that a tornado or fangly sauropod was about to start winding our way. But no, it was just a HUGE thunderstorm in the middle of the agrarian truth of America: All things are made of corn.

Back from Chi-Town, which was real nice to get a way to for a few days, Iowa City looks sleepy and collegiate: Empties and sofas in front yards. “Baggo” games on the sidewalks. Cornfed coeds sunbathing in the median of the town thoroughfare, listening to Kanye on their iPods. Cousin Lesley is back in Georgia. Eleanor is bedding down for the night. Janelle and I have big plans to have no plans tonight, and will most likely fall asleep watching Twin Peaks. Chicago was good to us. And that storm – it was amazing. This photo captures the moment perfectly. I’m not sure who took it. Maybe Janelle. Maybe cousin Lesley. But here we were, speeding into the mouth of the Beast, at 80 mph!