Storm

Canadian Coast Guard

source

During the storm, in flickering candlelight,
we huddled inside,
listening to wind and rain
lash the cabin walls.

Through fogged and
streaming windows, we watched
small boats struggling
to cross the harbour,
their small lights winking
through the falling dark,
brave hulls nosing up and
 - precariously - over,
then slapping down.
We held our breath as
they disappeared into the canyons,
between waves as high as houses,
then bobbed back up
so we could breathe again.
We held them in our gaze, until one,
and then another, reached safe mooring.

We fell asleep to the howling gale,
awoke to the silence of
the power still out.

Cautiously, we crept out from our houses,
surveying the damage
with awe and respect.

Big trees were down everywhere:
across the highway, leaning on hydro lines.
One crushed the neighbour's brand new car,
another indented a peaked roof.

At the height of our last storm, a landslide
closed the road for 24 hours.
The CoOp shelves grew bare
as villagers stocked up.

Everywhere, humans scurried like ants,
clearing away and rebuilding.
The highway crew brought in
a temporary steel bridge
so essential traffic could resume.
We greeted the food trucks with cheer.

On the west coast, we never know
when the next big storm will hit.
We only know it will.

I always have a box of fat storm candles
at the ready. And a headlamp,
for reading cozily in bed.


for Brendan at earthweal: Storm

I actually enjoy a good storm, am in awe of nature's fury in her pounding waves and howling wind. But storms have grown stronger of late; they do more damage, and the flooding is more severe than in earlier years.