I drove through a dust storm today. I can’t recall ever seeing one. It was less than a mile thick but it was quite dense. I somehow felt like Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz. My dog was in the back of the car. Would the Wicked Witch of the West appear and say “I’ll get you my pretty and your little dog too”? I made it through and returned to where I was earlier parked. I had dropped some family at an appointment and sat reading the paper. The car shook every so often with the stronger gusts and it felt as though I was not exactly stopped. The dog was sleeping as we sat alone in a graveled parking area. Every once in a while the car was pelted with grit. I thought about moving but I kept thinking about the people living in the dust storm and the person who was coming home to a large tree laying across their roof. There were worse places to be.