In the heart of the Land of Enchantment, I watched the sky open itself like a revelation. A sculpted supercell rose from the horizon gilded by the fading fire of sunset. I felt that familiar pull — the one that hums in my ribs whenever the atmosphere begins to speak. My husband and I chased after it with breathless devotion, our pulses in sync with the thunder rolling ahead of us.

By the time we reached this abandoned home, the storm had found its full and furious voice. Light and shadow carved it into a cathedral of motion, and every layer glowed with the sun's final blessing. The air around me vibrated. It was alive with memory, longing, and a tremulous energy I can only call grace.

Time loosened its grasp. The storm bent low over the land as if to greet us, and I stood there, awash in radiance, letting the wild remind me who I am. Elation swept through me like the wind in my hair. A  joy that grows every time I follow the storm’s call. Storm chasing keeps teaching me the same truth: Beauty survives in the untamed places and and the sky never forgets the souls who seek where enchantment dwells.