After three days of constant wind blowing from the north and
hurricane Sandy tail winds bludgeon the
northeast, one comes to understand this almost unmentionable word,
nor’easter.
This morning, obsessed with going out into sixty mile per
hour winds, I donned a raincoat and rubber boots and went. This bizarre fascination about weather
phenomena is nothing new. Making the turn around the side of the house that
sits next to a boat barn blocking some of the wind, I was almost knocked down.
The power of it was dizzying. I stiffened my legs against the force, but knew
staying out any longer, I’d be down. Not
very sure about whether a tree on our partly wooded lot might timber down on
top of me, I was back inside in a flash.
Whenever an old fisherman talks of nor’easter, his voice is
filled with reverence. So far, living in
the Great Lakes area hadn’t illustrated the
fearfulness of a storm like this. One of
the thoughts to keep in mind about Lake Erie
is that it’s only forty feet at its deepest.
Anyone foolish enough to take a boat out in a storm could end up pounded
to the bottom of the lake in a heartbeat.
Trees are bent over ready to touch the ground. They wave and bounce back in a valiant effort
to stand up straight. Overnight the
autumn colors disappeared catapulting all into a season of bitter desolation. Skies outline barren tree branches darkened
by rain, struggling to reach upward.
With upcoming snow season, we would have a frigid sky overlaid into
black and white. Yet now, the horizon is
an imperious miserable grey. It serves
us as a memento of how small we really are in this universe making our little
lives but under the grace of God.
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