Christmas seemed a lot more exciting, even magical, when she was a child, Irma Thibodeaux thought sadly, as she wrapped the shawl around her neck.  Christmas nowadays meant sadness, even lonliness.  Ever since Edgar, her husband, died two years earlier, Christmas no longer seemed the same.

Irma sighed heavily as she looked about her small apartment.  Her kids were grown and gone; they  had their own lives.  At least they could come see me, she reasoned.  Are they that wrapped up in themselves that they can't even visit their old sick, lonely mother??

She was scared: the weather was wild outside -- rainy, with the threat of severe weather; twice already the tornado warning sirens had sounded and it looked like more bad weather was on the way: the skies to the west, southwest, and north were getting blacker and more onimous looking by the minute.

Twice Irma Thibodeaux had to go to the closet in her bedroom: it was the center most point in her apartment, away from any windows.  She did not like storms, especially now that she was living all by herself.  So far nothing had happened, but what would it take? A miracle, perhaps?? She was hoping for a Christmas miracle from God: to keep her safe from danger and impending harm.

Irma felt safer with her children and her husband.  Now all were gone and she felt vulnerable, even fragile.

Irma had lived in Cajun Country, deep in the heart of south Lousiana, all her life.  You would think I'd be used to this weather by now, she thought.  No, she wasn't.  In all reality, she was terrified of storms.  Hurricanes, tornadoes, even plain old garden-variety thunderstorms: they all scared her slap silly.

I don't know what I would do if something were to happen, Irma thought as she strained to listen for the telltale wail of the tornao sirens, but so far nothing, even though the skies were darkening.  It probably wouldn't be long before they sounded, as the winds were starting to pick up fast.

~To be continued.~