There's a big storm coming. Somebody told me they saw it, and it is terrible. Everybody should run and hide. I don't take it very seriously at first, I mean, heck, a storm?

Then I see my climbing friend Doug running along the top side of Gabriel Park, down the hill, again warning that we have to run, and find a safe place to hide from the storm.

I follow him into some sort of shed, which he says is very sturdily build. The storm passes over, battering the shed loudly. I imagine what it would be like to be killed under such circumstances, the building crashing down and crushing or piercing me. But the shed holds.

Then I am looking for my dogs in the wreckage.