August 27, 2012

Another lovely morning . . . if you did not have the news, there would be no way of telling there is a storm in the gulf, not a hurricane yet but perhaps on its way to becoming one.   The sky is a high clear blue with hardly a cloud in it.  No wind, not even a breeze, a perfect day for the first day of school.  Without radar, you could be as surprised as the 1900 residents of Galveston.   Now, we all have advanced warning, and can watch a storm approach.  We think we know where it is going, but we still watch because those storms can be fickle and seem to be able to surprise us still, even while we are watching. 

Hurricane Season

1

Those who have already been destroyed

recognize its signs: the sky

clouds like a glaucous eye,

the wind muscles over whatever

is weak. Waves swell, engorged

with too much of something.

A lashing, a swimming of tongues

through air. Birds disappear.

The smell of ocean in the wrong place,

of something diseased, lost fish.

The sky bellows, darkens, roars

like a drunk.

Those unacquainted with destruction

ask for wind speeds, amount of rainfall,

degree of movement. A plotting,

a computation of the destruction.

2

For some of us, all seasons are hurricane.

The winds gale up, working us like seed,

moving us like desire.

What lies beyond measurement

is all of beauty and terror.

To understand is to evacuate.

Sheryl St. Germain

Yes, we all make ready to evacuate, because you know the storm has no mercy, is incapable of it.  And sometimes beauty and terror lie so close together you know they must share a singular desire.  Think of why some people like storms so much, they would not be a beautiful or compelling if there were not that element of danger.  I was so surprised by the results of Ike, how the trees leafed out in unexpected places after being damaged by the wind.  How birds survived, though some took awhile to come back from wherever they went, even afterward there were mockingbirds, and, of course, the opportunistic mosquitoes from so much standing water.  We watch the storm, massive and white in the satellite pictures, and know it must go somewhere.  You feel uncharitable to wish it away from your particular stretch of shore, but you wish it none the less.  The scientist in us does ask for wind speed and direction, and rainfall measurements, something that will help us understand what ir beyond our control.  Some places need the rain so badly you wish you could send that rain to people who need it, but we all must accept what the world gives, even if sometimes it gives too much of what we thought we wanted.