July in the High Plains of Wyoming and northern Colorado can be pure magic. This day began as any other chase day, on a desolate farm road in the middle of nowhere. I'm pouring over weather maps and satellite data, looking for the familiar patterns and ingredients that come together to produce severe weather.

The skies are blue and empty now, birds are singing, wind blows softly through the wheat fields, and moisture clings to my skin. I can feel the instability in the air; I know that this peaceful scene is misleading, for something is building in the atmosphere. It is unsettled and I can sense it, I can feel it all around me.

The cap is about to break away. And when it does, nature's fury is going to erupt across these golden fields with unbelievable force and beauty. The skies are going to churn and boil, and unleash their wrath across the prairie.

I'll be waiting.