Perhaps it was Loch Lomond...

. . . or a gulf. Or maybe an ocean. Whatever it was, I was overlooking it, standing on a steep hill that went right to the water's edge (a fjord, maybe?). It was some sort of festival, and there were thousands of other people surrounding me.

In the distance, I saw the giant cone of a waterspout heading toward us. I pointed it out to those surrounding me, and people began to panic, running away. But there was nowhere to run to.

I decided to wait it out, lying on the ground, watching it approach. In the foreground (or perhaps that should be 'forewater', since it happened on the water) five, maybe six, giant whirlpools formed, spread out along my line of vision. Waterspouts rose from them until they reached the sky.

The colors shifted, not to the usual green of a tornadic sky, but to the burning orange of a sunny late autumn day, and it began raining a plentiful, but not pelting, warm rain. The giant waterspouts loomed gigantic in front of me. I craned my neck to look up at them, and I realized they stretched on forever.

There may have been more to this adventure, both before and after this part of it. In fact, I'm pretty sure there was, but I do not remember. I awoke.