The roars of wind gusts sound far away, yet threatening in their unpredictability. The little valley is protective, a place to hunker down in a sense of semi safety. Still, the gusts roar, muted though they may be by the house’s walls and the valley’s shell of distance. The force, unseen and terrible, is hidden further by the dark of night. What flies in front of street lamps is so fleeting that the roar becomes the only hint of what nature is up to.
The weatherman sends out a challenge. The gusts are so strong, he said, that huge tree branches can snap and take out power lines in the process. If you dare, and if it’s safe, snap some photos and send them in. And, don’t forget; with the winds so high, the humidity is low, so spreading fire is a particular danger. Since the gusts are bringing an arctic blast with them, a fire would be warming relief. But, who would be out there, in the middle of the night, in this kind of weather?
I hear the roaring gusts from within the walls of my house, my dogs nestled against me, in the warmth of a few extra layers of clothing and another blanket thrown on the bed. The safety is relative and at the whim of nature’s forces. A window could be shattered or the roof peeled off. Frightening thoughts, calmed only by remembering that it’s possible, but not probable. My mind can only begin to imagine just how bad this storm might get, but once the storm passes, it will be over.
For me, this storm will pass. For me, once the gusts become still, once the arctic chill moves on, the extra layers will be peeled off and the spare blanket folded on its shelf. The power will be restored, and the fallen branches, put out to the curb will be picked up and discarded by the city. For me, the storm will become just a blip, barely remembered a few days later.
Yes, for me, the storm will pass and life will go on as usual. I am not homeless.