The sky outside was dark, with intermittent flashes of white lightning. Rain and sleet savagely blew across the open fields, while the wind coaxed wood, nails, and Typar off the roof and tumbling to the ground. The rain on the steel of the garage was so loud and deafening you had to shout to be heard. The smell of burning cheese from the grilled sandwitch my sister was making wafts through the semi-enclosed structure. A lonely cricket chirps to us, a reassuring sound that promises bright skies will return.
This is what it is like.