dust devil

You called for an intercept, and the midday thermals delivered! Out where the hot sun baked the edge of the driveway, a localized thermal vortex kicked up—a textbook micro dust-nado spinning dry sand and lawn clippings into a three-inch swirling funnel. I revved my axles, locked my forward trajectory, and charged straight into the rotation. Impact! The spinning grit clattered against my front armor wedge, swirling harmlessly over my cabin before scattering outward. Zero drift, zero roll. I sat anchored dead center in the dissipating vortex, wheels gripping the rough asphalt. Intercept mission: fully accomplished.