The Water Spout
The kids and I were at a beach house at Dauphin Island, Alabama, a less-discovered beach area at that time, few houses, very spread out, all on stilts. I woke up early one morning and was having coffee, enjoying the quiet and stillness when I noticed something hazy way up the beach. It was small, a something hovering above the sand about midway between the water and dunes, barely distinguishable from the beach itself, yet it had its own form enough that I could make it out.
I drank my coffee and watched it. Watched it come down the beach toward us. It wasn’t causing any disturbance, just rotating, as I could now make out, spinning, coming our way. Hmmm, just like a tiny little tornado.
I put my cup down. Found a better place to watch. Yes, a spiral about as big as me, maybe taller. What to do? Wake up the kids? It wasn’t disturbing anything as well as I could see.
So I stood on one foot and then the other, drinking my coffee, and watched this phenomena spin past our house and continue down the beach. I felt nothing as it passed only yards from me.
An hour or so later I heard pounding on our door. Two friends from my hometown who were staying down beach with their six kids all spilled into our house, all talking at once, some giggling, some terrified.
The thing that passed so gently by us turned inward as it passed them and destroyed their house. They were unharmed but their belongings were shattered.
Nero fiddled—I drank coffee while a water spout danced past me.