... when all of a sudden, the space between flashes and cracks becomes non-existent. I'm screaming and cowering like a maniac when my husband finds an abandoned permafrost research trailer. Crawling underneath and huddling with our dogs, we push away all scraps of metal and rock upward on the balls of our rubber-soled Chacos, just in case.
A steady sheet of hail begins pounding into the ground around us, and we cower like children, shivering from chill and fear. Colorado is known for its unpredictable and fast-moving weather patterns, so we hang tight for about 40 minutes, listening to the lightning's rumble and crack as it spreads past the Rocky Mountains and begins advancing toward the Front Range.
Which, upon our return to civilization, is exactly what we eat.