On the horizon, a gathering darkness, through which bright white worms briefly wriggle and are gone. Around it the sky is stained, damp and grey. It's disconcerting, seeing a storm so far off. You know the silence in which you now witness it is wholly absent there, that it will approach relentlessly as a great army, drums building and gunfire echoing towards you, until your now-innocent patch of land begins to tremble, and the daylight seeps from it, and the tempest is suddenly on you in all it raging fury.
Can you see? Can you hear? There, just there, if you hold your breath?
With no hurry, with monumental deliberation, Ocky returns.