"I step onto our front porch. It is dark, and rainy, and windy enough that I unhook the hanging basket of purple petunias and move it to a secure location behind one of the porch chairs. Taking precautions.
That’s when I hear it. A low wail, coming from the south, the direction of Glenview. An air raid siren. That means one of two things. Either the Germans are sending a wave of Junker Ju 88s over the English Channel, and we need to fire up our searchlights and man our anti-aircraft batteries — nah, that can’t be it — or this tornado business has suddenly gotten serious. I hurry back inside."
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