Hurricane Morning

I have the golf course pretty much to myself this morning.  My erstwhile companions, perhaps still shaken by Tuesday's earthquake, have been, I presume, somewhat deterred by the hurricane. 

I see one high flung-hawk being buffeted about by the gusts aloft.  The herons seem content to hug the edges of the ponds, aerodynamically perfect bodies facing into the wind atop absurdly fragile legs.  Across a couple of deserted fairways I see the lone white heron launch himself toward the next water hazard - it is how I imagine a dragon would fly - all awkward wings and churning energy.  In the ponds themselves all is quiet, save the geometry of raindrops, erased by wind driven wavelets aping their monster kin crashing ashore several hours to the east.  The muskrats, frogs and turtles seem snug below decks, sipping toddies, no doubt.

We sit at the very western edge of the storm, having again "dodged the bullet."  Still, the local TV stations have sent the young and foolish of their clan to the coast to cling to lamp posts, brace themselves against the lashing wind and horizontal rain to declare the patently obvious: "As you can see, Jane, it's really bad out here!"

I hope that folks to the northeast of us will be spared the disruption and devastation we experienced when Hurricane Fran motored right up the beltline here in Raleigh some 15 years ago, trashing the city and leaving us without power for more than a week. Today's far more gentle rumblings do remind me of the respect one must give these storms.  They strike me as a kind of meteorological giantism, a throwback to the age of dinosaurs, they stomp up the coastline leveling our petty constructions with an unintended flip of the tail. 

Still, the wind seems to be rising, and the intermittent rain grows more constant.  I see a respectable branch freshly down across the path ahead.  So I take the shorter fork toward home, not so much fearful of my life, but painfully aware of the embarrassment my wife would suffer from the headlines: Lunatic Killed While Out Walking During Hurricane.
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