What makes a storm feel like it’s watching you?

I was parked off the highway near Elkhart last night, just waiting for the cell to break. The sky was this bruised purple, and the wind had this low hum—like something was tuning up. I’ve chased storms for years, but that one felt different. Not dangerous, not even close. Just… aware. Like it knew I was there. What’s the line between intuition and the atmosphere itself whispering? I don’t know if I want to find out.