How to describe these past two weeks.
Rain. Some sun. Rain. Big cumulus clouds. More rain. Humidity. Still air. Rain. Pre-dawn lightning storms igniting the sky with continuous flashing. Lots of rain. But no hurricane.
I accept the rain without complaint as we prefer it to a hurricane.
Hurricane Isaac spared the east coast. Oriental does not have a good history with "I" storms as Isabel and Irene both thrashed the area thoroughly, the storm surge inundating the entire inner coast. With Irene, the flooding occurred after a dry summer, unlike this year's. Someone help us if a hurricane hits here anytime in the near future. What with all the rain we have had, the ground has no ability to absorb the torrents of a hurricane or tropical storm, much less the storm surge.
Rain pools in drainage ditches and collapses asphalt road edges. Wild turkeys emerge from deep woods to feed on cut corn fields. Mud abounds. Even a tornado tried to form, the plume rising briskly into the cloud above as the cloud twisted in the opposite direction. We observed from the clubhouse porch having evacuated the pool in favor of a cup of coffee in the cool storm air. Two tornadoes had already landed several miles away.
|Tornado trying to form over (but beyond) Whittaker Creek Yacht Club.|
We have reverse-hibernated inside the relative cool of our boat's saloon. Some local friends have begun to ask me if I have been traveling abroad it has been so long since they have seen me in town. I, of course, demur as to the travel and plead extreme circumstances. No, I do not ride my collapsible bike the short three miles into town when even a short walk off the dock to the club house leaves me drenched and dripping. Cameron recently asked if I had decided to swim in the morning when he saw me freshly wet from that brief saunter. After waiting for the sun to pass the meridian and cast its shadow on a corner of the pool deck, I fall into the water. If the wind blows, I alternately dip and read, the wind refreshing on wet skin.
Fish are stirring. Thousands of small fry, but no prey except an odd gull or two. Royal terns have arrived on our dock, their bold orange bills and aerodynamic crests giving them a look of speed even when perched.
Autumn is close, but I feel only the residual of summer. And I continue to wake every day to see where the tropical cyclones lie. Bon chance.
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