I woke after having a dream where a huge, curling wave was heading for the beach. Someone said, "The ferry we're getting on has to go through that." Oh.
It is the proverbial calm before the storm.
The air, eerily still. Nothing moving.
The trees stand, at ease, in the yard. Zen-like?
We've had some big trees come down over the summer. Our un-cluttered yard will likely be littered with branches tomorrow. We might lose power. I hope not. We need bread; Michael will have to make the trip. I can only imagine the lines. No love lost between me and the supermarket.
I'm thinking about trees. How they root, grow towards the light, become home for cardinals and squirrels. Leaves fall, branches break. They grow old, die. Someone chainsaws them down, green shoots rise out of stumps. Root again. That kind of thing.
Trees are not braced for anything.
Claire slept at a friend's last night.
"Maybe you should get me before lunch," she said, "You know, with the storm coming. I'd like to be home."
I'll do that.
Go get my girl.
Go get my girl.
Bring in hanging plants, tuck chairs in shed.
Secure anything else that could fly through the air.
Batten down the hatches.
That's what I've been thinking about with Hurricane Irene barreling up the coast. It's good to be prepared, as best you can; bread, water, candles, wills. But even when there is no storm...
I am braced for the next thing, the shoe dropping.
rather than bracing for the next hit, feels way better.
I'm tired of fight or flight, my twitchy, familiar pal.
Even if there's no hurricane in your life today, stand.
Like a tree?
Whatever it is, ride it out.