After She's Gone

I kept thinking that it seemed wrong to sleep through the storm last night. That “trusting” the devices that will alert us of problems will continue to work seemed sort of naïve. I lay awake for some time next to the snoring spouse, watching the trees bend to and fro with the weight of wind and rain bowing their backs. We’re fine this morning. There wasn’t even a power outage, which is something of a surprise in the bubble. Usually the random thunder storm causes the power to blink owlishly. But not for the hurricane of 2011! The Bubble is intact. There were a few leaks of water. Several hundred twigs lying lifeless on the lawn. Watery graves for thousands of ants, sow bugs and seed pods of the nearby ash tree. The aftermath is forlorn and solemn. And the world seems somehow quieter, having escaped the wrath of Mother Nature, there are no cars zooming to get to wherever it is they go. There aren’t any people patrolling the streets yet, like they do after a snow storm, checking to see if they can shovel or not. Only the shushing of the wind, only the dripping of the water out of the gutters, only the groaning of the ancient trees.