He who is not every day conquering some fear has not learned the secret of life.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
Satellite Image of Hurricane
Photo by NASA on Unsplash
Summer’s touch lazed on the browning lawns and neutral grounds and the puddles of lingering rainwater from last night’s thunderstorm mirrored flashes of afternoon sun rays that could liquefy asphalt in a minute. The summer flowers flaunted their flamboyant colors under a blue sky peppered with redundant fluffs of clouds that seemed to age as I watched.
The outlines of their ghostly white surfaces began slowly greying near the edges. Then, as if the Rougarou had thrown buckets of swamp water over them, they transformed into muddy grey and black masses. The clouds butted together, overlapping each other and hissing out warning streaks of lightening.
It was the absence of bird song and the skittish overaction of pets and people that foretold the approaching marauder.
From the weather satellite, the hurricane seemed as soft and fresh as a meringue pie. Its trajectory was to hit the Gulf Coast and keep on moving inland. No one wanted it to land on their table, but it had to go somewhere.
Might as well try and catch a bullet because it was on its way and nothing would stop it.
When the hurricane’s path was confirmed, neighbors hustled in and out of screen doors, their arms loaded with supplies to pack into the car. Plywood was hauled out of the garage and hammered in place over vulnerable windows; insurance documents gathered and grocery stores raided for bread, water and other staples. Fully loaded vehicles waited impatiently in long lines to fuel up on their way out of town.
Anything that was not secured was nailed down. That covered a lot of stuff, but wood and metal pieces large enough to kill in a 90mph+ gale were first in line.
Some, like me, stayed. The decision revolved around the severity of the storm, the predicted path, the availability of a safe place to go to and how likely your home would be under water once the storm landed.
The feel of the rising wind blustering my hair into a flurry of wind whipped strands,snapped me back to the present and reminded me of the need to plug in the generator. The power would be lost sooner than later.
The hurricane started sluggishly, tangential winds rustling the trees. I smelled the sweet, pungent aroma of loamy earth air released by the rain that quickened like deceitful tears falling from impenitent eyes. I watch the trash cans summersault a last dance with the gusting winds that swelled, died and rose again.
The wind was beginning to animate the lake into resentful gray foams of salty water that barraged the shore, causing precarious board walks to shudder. Even in the middle of a hurricane, as the storm rages, the bottom of the sea is calm. There is no storm below.
On land, leaf filled debris erupted into spontaneous, crazed raves that pirouetted around tree trunks and tossed signs into a growing abyss orchestrated by rumbling thunder, spot lighted by crackles of lightening and sparks from felled light poles.
I lifted my face to the blanket of clouds that obscured the sun’s fading intensity, experiencing the threat in my heart, body and soul. The rising wind raced through the streets, torn leaves whorled into frenzied whirlwinds, forecasting hidden devastation lurking in the hurricane.
I silently prayed I would not see the sky turning green, or sense the wind die down and the air become very still, or hear a loud roar as if a freight train is coming. Please Lord, spare us from tornados.
Like a Leviathan, the hurricane twisted and writhed across lakes, rivers, bayous and land, leaving a wake of chaos. My senses were on overload.
The hurricane winds taunted anything standing. Tiles rocketed off roofs in harmony with the clattering of window panes and the stuttering of aging beams. The creepy, whistling, savage roar of the wind howled a catastrophe that made my hair stand up on the back of my neck.
When the hurricane is overhead nothing can deaden the clamor.
Neither could I blot out the pummeling, relentless din of the rain. Rising waters are dangerous and I have known terror and utterly unaccountable aftereffects when storm waters breeched the door step of a home.
Still I had to know. I stepped cautiously onto the porch. I could see the water was swelling across the lawn but not yet a threat. I fought the wind and shoved the door closed with my left hand as my right hand made the sign of the cross.
I winced at the booming sound of large branches falling heavily across the road and then jumped higher than I ever thought I could as a thunderous moan shook the house. The lament seemed to come from the earth itself. Inexplicably, I began to weep as if mourning an old friend.
I pulled a soft fleece blanket around me and huddled down in a fetal position on the sofa for what seemed like evermore.
With a start I realized that the pulsating encroachment of the hurricane had begun to wane, signaling that it had satisfied its vengeance and was moving on to repeat its rant and vent its fury on other places before, exhausted and perhaps repentant, it blew its last breath and disappeared from sight.
The wind calmed and a faint peach-orange glow dawned, eliciting a collective prayer of thanks that hounded away the last raindrop. The air was clam, clear and almost fragrant from being so thoroughly cleansed. Each breath of the fresh air filled my senses with a joy that made me want to yell at the top of my lungs that I had made it through the storm.
As the sun began to rise, I saw it rested in a perfectly clear, blue sky. I caught my breath at the contrast that momentarily mocked me. With leaden feet I stepped into the carnage. There was no yellow brick road waiting to lead the way home. For many there was no home.
When the wild, wind dance subsided, debris that minutes before had been air borne alighted in outrageous displays and improbable places, blocked roads, blanketed vehicles, decapitated roofs and downed trees. The grass still coated the ground, unable to be plucked by the wrathful hurricane.
Nothing was as it was.
My heart ached to see the ageless oak, my loyal friend, laying prone across the front yard like a brave warrior. Her great root ball defiantly towered above the ground and knurled limbs claimed the land which, for decades, she lovingly sheltered.
As I stepped over the debris and fallen trees I blew a kiss to mother earth; may she recover from the assault and the ruthless pain that set her reeling.
Hurricane season carries a humbling reminder that, despite modern technologies, nature is unpredictable. Global warming has created instability, making the storms more volatile and multiplying the number of hurricanes and tornadoes.
In truth, you can’t stop the hurricane; you just learn how to survive if you are in its path and recover once it has past. To some it seems futile to rebuild a new life on shifting sand. Still it speaks to resilience, faith and hard-headed human beings.
Perhaps it is the horror-film-like feel of the experience that tricks our mind into believing it never really happened.
Adversity is a chance to shine, to rise to a challenge. Only then will you feel the rainbow and discharge the hurricane, grateful for the blessings of rain and sunshine.
“One who knows the Mississippi will promptly aver—not aloud, but to himself—that ten thousand River Commissions, with the mines of the world at their back, cannot tame that lawless stream, cannot curb it or confine it, cannot say to it, Go here, or Go there, and make it obey; cannot save a shore which it has sentenced; cannot bar its path with an obstruction which it will not tear down, dance over, and laugh at.”
Flooded Road after Hurricane
Photo by phillip-flores-38wqGW802RM-unsplash.jpg