Hurricane

Photo: berries growing by the French Broad river. June 2024.

There was a Dollar General semi-truck in the river.

I had flown to Asheville to visit family for Thanksgiving in late November. I was riding with my mother, winding through back roads to avoid washed-out sections, to meet my sister and niece for a movie. Our route took us along a portion of the Swannanoa River. So many things had been left behind by the flooding from Helene two months ago: a delivery van, a twenty-foot boat, construction debris, plastic bags, so much detritus.

Image by Markus Spiske on Unsplash. (source)

Last week, I watered
Rows of carrots and cabbage
In raised beds of pine
At the foot of a hill.

This morning, I waded
Through rust-colored mud
To the foot of that hill--
But my garden was gone.

Tomorrow I'll borrow
A rusty old shovel
To dig out my pine beds
And plant seeds for next year.

Image: a street in my neighborhood following Hurricane Milton.

There’s nothing like two back-to-back hurricanes to remind you to talk more to people you care about.

I am, in fact, still alive. After last year’s grief and illness, I began writing poetry (hopefully more on that to come!), and I’ve been migrating the blog away from WordPress to a static site generator. I’ve also been reading more, mostly non-fiction.

I guess one could say I was complacent.

There’s been a persistent numbness lately, as if a circuit board in my brain was shorted in a power surge and lies dead and smoldering. So, so many things have happened – are happening – are about to happen – that they cannot be processed. Like logs down a river, my feelings have caught on the banks and jammed.

After my post about Harvey, we Floridians, as well as those in the Caribbean islands, had to deal with Irma. I evacuated with a friend to Tallahassee for several days to wait out the storm, worried about family and friends who stayed behind. After two weeks of gas shortages, empty grocery stores, and awful traffic, I made it home, my apartment just as I had left it.