Hurricane Journal #1

It’s eight-thirty in the morning, and hurricane Juan is still bombarding our cave with wind and rain. Nature’s dance has become frantic, with the trees bending as they meet the wind and his hammer.

There’s a steady beep coming from the alarm system that is punching through my thoughts now. It’s an unpleasant and arificial sound in direct conflict with the beauty of the storm’s wind, rain and calm-induced song. The tapping drum on the window and the roaring leaves comfort, but the man-made alert frustrates and pushes back peace.

Rain is falling hard, as it was last night, forming rivers over the sidewalk and road. The front lawn is covered with the bodies of defeated leaves, cut down before they could even begin on the path to brilliant yellows, oranges and reds. The air is winning against the earth in this battle.

From this living room window I see a family passing, a father and his children, a daughter and a son, braving the weather to the sound of sudden sirens and traffic.

Down the street dark earth is visable where a great maple was up-rooted. It leans toward a house with gentle forebodance. All along the road lie the limbs of its cousins.

I opened the window some to let in more of the sounds. A larger number of cars seems to be in motion now, and voices are reaching through the gusts and down pour. Rowdy teenagers are passing and acting brave before running from the rain.

A flash of lightning and thunder have brought back their further warning, while city repair crews have just arrived. A woman with a red and white umbrella watches them intently. Now beyond my view, only waves of sound bear witness to the engines’ work. Orange light is sweeping across houses on the other side of the street.

My roommates Greg and Nathan are sleeping, unaware of all this motion, perhaps dreaming of the eye. This storm’s eye seemed to be here a couple hours ago, when the air was calm and free of droplets.

“Having fun so far?” drifts up to me, breaking away from two men’s conversation obscenely. In such weather perhaps such jovial remarks are a needed distraction from the damage.

More people are walking the sidewalks dressed in their rain coats and soaked to the bone. Children too young to remember another hurricane are speaking with wonder in their voices. Seniours are weathering this storm like they have countless others.

All this is happening throughout the city and province, while I’m sitting safely here in this chair by the window, with my pen in hand and my phone ready beside me. Such calm seems so strange amid the lashing or limbs and cry of the wind merely beyond the glass.

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