I’ve totally got a thing for storms, big big big storms.
Not enough to be a stormchaser, but I totally get the urge to find the kind of weather that looks beautiful as it kills you.
New York has almost everything, good and bad, but it lacks the weather—or, more precisely, lacks the sightlines to the kind of weather that makes me want to run outside and throw my arms wide and head back and let it all rush through me.
Wisconsin and Minnesota had that. Even in Minneapolis, which is a respectable city, there was enough open space to see how the big sky made us all small.
To be made small by pettiness—my own or someone else’s—diminishes me. But to be made small by something overwhelming is to be caught up in the overwhelm and, absurdly, made large.
h/t Phil Plait, Bad Astronomer