The Hurricane

As another Friday rolls around, I'd like to take this opportunity to wish all of you a great weekend, and for those of you in the hurricane zone, please be safe.  I'll be battering down the hatches tomorrow, to be sure.  Checked on the evacuation map, and my home is located just outside the evacuation area.  Pays to be prepared, though.  They say this will be the worst storm to hit the city since 1821.  I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a bit unnerved.  

My main concern is losing power.  Will be sure to have everyone in the household make sure their phones are charged before the storm hits.   Already have plenty of candles and two flashlights.  Could use a transistor radio if they sell them anymore.  At any rate, our clock radio appears to take batteries so now is a good time to check it out.  Left son a list of things to stock up on today--water, canned goods, and the like.  Hubby will take care of the windows.   We'll be safe.  Don't know it I'll make it to work in the new place on Monday what with the talk of shutting down the trains, but that is getting ahead of myself...one step at a time is the way to go.  

So, be safe, my dear friends.  We're in for a wild ride, to be sure, but if we pay attention, prepare, and listen to the experts, we'll all be okay. 

Lord of the winds! I feel thee nigh,

I know thy breath in the burning sky!

And I wait, with a thrill in every vein,

For the coming of the hurricane!

And lo! on the wing of the heavy gales,

Through the boundless arch of heaven he sails;

Silent and slow, and terribly strong,

The mighty shadow is borne along,

Like the dark eternity to come;

While the world below, dismayed and dumb,

Through the calm of the thick hot atmosphere

Looks up at its gloomy folds with fear.

They darken fast; and the golden blaze

Of the sun is quenched in the lurid haze,

And he sends through the shade a funeral ray--

A glare that is neither night nor day,

A beam that touches, with hues of death,

The clouds above and the earth beneath.

To its covert glides the silent bird,

While the hurricane's distant voice is heard,

Uplifted among the mountains round,

And the forests hear and answer the sound.

He is come! he is come! do ye not behold

His ample robes on the wind unrolled?

Giant of air! we bid thee hail!--

How his gray skirts toss in the whirling gale;

How his huge and writhing arms are bent,

To clasp the zone of the firmament,

And fold at length, in their dark embrace,

From mountain to mountain the visible space.

Darker--still darker! the whirlwinds bear

The dust of the plains to the middle air:

And hark to the crashing, long and loud,

Of the chariot of God in the thunder-cloud!

You may trace its path by the flashes that start

From the rapid wheels where'er they dart,

As the fire-bolts leap to the world below,

And flood the skies with a lurid glow.

What roar is that?--'tis the rain that breaks

In torrents away from the airy lakes,

Heavily poured on the shuddering ground,

And shedding a nameless horror round.

Ah! well known woods, and mountains, and skies,

With the very clouds!--ye are lost to my eyes.

I seek ye vainly, and see in your place

The shadowy tempest that sweeps through space,

A whirling ocean that fills the wall

Of the crystal heaven, and buries all.

And I, cut off from the world, remain

Alone with the terrible hurricane.

William Cullen Bryant