This is a post that many of my new subscribers have not seen. It was written a few months after hurricane Ian struck the gulf coast of Florida where, ten months later, things are still not back to normal. If you’ve already read it, thank you. If you haven’t, it’s a very short read. Love your comments and please feel free to share!
We sit in canvas camp chairs under stars that have always been there.
“The Milky Way,’” she says.
The Milky Way.
Too vast, too Infinite.
Time. Insignificance. God.
Cathedrals provide a sky, a proper sky with spherical borders. Grandeur without the uncertainty of infinity.
In the shelter, a little girl falls asleep hugging her dog.
“It’s over, we can go now.”
“No, wait for daylight.”
At dawn, we lean into the wind to keep our footing.
At home, we hug and cry for what we still have.
Later, we cry for all that is lost.
Helicopters, like dragonflies overhead, Whup, Whup, Whup.
“Orion’s Belt,” she says.
The flash of the lighter on the cigar blinds temporarily.
After Hurricane Ian on 9/28/22, power was not restored for weeks and it was common for people to remark on the darkness and the clarity of the night sky.
I had been working on a longer piece detailing the devastation, the loss of life and property, people helping people but I scrapped it. This will have to do.
"At home, we hug and cry for what we still have.
Later, we cry for all that is lost."
This short powerful piece gives the reader all that is needed to feel the devastation of those who suffered through Hurricane Ian. It's possible that a longer treatment might have been less effective. That odd last line jerked me sideways. So unusual.
I don’t know if a longer work is necessary. What a powerful story of loss, devastation, and a sliver of hope in the darkness.