It’s late September in South Florida, so it’s not surprising that I find myself living beneath the outer bands of a hurricane, roughly 200 miles from the eye. Wind surges have shaken the live oaks all day. I’d like to say they’ve never been shaken like this before, but I know that’s not true. Our neighborhood rests on a barrier island. From our backyard we can hear the waves of the Atlantic crashing on the shore.
Almost as frightening as the gales and squalls are the random periods of eerie calm. Any sense of peace or safety is false. With these capricious bands, you never know when the next blast will come.
It hardly seems like five years have passed since predictions of a direct hit were so dire. My husband, dog, cat and I joined countless others on jammed interstates fleeing north.
Days later, when we returned, the live oaks lining our street were denuded. These trees never fully shed their leaves. In late winter they drop half of them and almost instantaneously sprout bright new ones.
That fall I was shocked that the leaves didn’t wait until February to regenerate. By October, no one could tell that a hurricane had blasted through. I shouldn’t have been surprised. If live oaks are smart enough to figure out that there’s no winter here and can withstand the intensity of the Florida sun, surely they’re capable of recovering from the ravages of 70 mph winds.
Last night, as this year’s hurricane moved in on us, it was hard to distinguish the sound of rain from the sound of wind. Sheets of water crashed against the stucco walls. At one point I thought the garbage cans must be loose, but we had secured them in the garage earlier. I turned on the outside lights. Maybe it was someone else’s stray something that hit the house. I saw nothing but glints of driving rain.
Where does all of this energy come from? What god swirled his trident over sea and sky? It’s easy to imagine at times like these that we are in the hands of an angry, merciless being.
The digital images on TV show arms of vapor reaching around the curve of the earth. Could it be Poseidon throwing a right hook?
We are very modern people—sophisticated, educated, informed—but we still dwell among giants and titans. The purest forms of energy are asserting themselves, proving once again that they will always be beyond us and our control.
Mother Nature isn’t the only one who mocks humanity’s hubris. These winds have their origins in the sun, the center of our universe. Our nearest star has spent all summer in cahoots with the sea cooking up this unwieldy brew.
Here beneath the outer bands, I am grateful. Only a few hundred miles away, homes and businesses are flooded. We don’t know yet how much has been destroyed. Millions are without power. I can only imagine the fear, loss, tragedy, and mortal terror for those hit head on by this beast that blows water and wind instead of fire as it trespasses the sky and treads the shore.
-Radiance Writer
September 28, 2022
Radiance Within 