It’s
astonishing how quiet the city is during a power outage. The freeway is still alive but everything
else grinds to a slow steady numbness.
It’s as if we don’t really know how exactly to function normally without
it – like our very existence is dependent upon Edison ’s
contraption. In all reality, Thursday’s
near city-wide blackout was a minor inconvenience and presented more of an
opportunity than an obstacle. As with
all things, it’s simply a matter of perspective.
The
storm was awesome. Thousands of
lightning sky dances and strikes.
Booming thunderclaps. Wind.
Temperature swings. Weird colors. Few natural events are as satisfying to me as
a good strong summer storm. I’m filled
with near equal measure of excitement and wonderment at the power of nature as
I am with consternation and anxiety as to whether or not the pines will
hold. I’m overflowing with anticipation
when I know weather is approaching and relieved we made it through when it’s
gone. It’s wonderful. I love it.
I can’t wait for the next one.
Belle doesn’t share my enthusiasm and enjoyed the show from the safe confines
of the guest bathroom (behind the toilet).
Maynard, on the other hand was on the front porch riding it out with me
– a man after my own heart.
When
the storm passes and I’m sitting in the inevitable darkness a calm comes over
me that I can’t quite explain. Once I’m
resolved to the fact that the lights will most likely be out for a while, I
relax and let the quiet stillness all the way in. I open the doors and let the damp night waft
through. A silent solitude is a rare
experience and I find that I relish it when it happens. Alas, too much time alone with dogs and
thoughts will drive one to madness so after a modicum of time passes I’m compelled
to go outside and wander up the street.
I
love my neighborhood. We don’t always
talk but when weather happens we’re always in the street after a storm…folks
just checking on one another. It reminds
me of growing up in Mississippi
It
reminded me of the tornado in the spring of 2008. For whatever reason, I hadn’t bought tickets
to the SEC basketball tourney at the Georgia Dome but I was locked in to the
television as my Bulldogs battled Alabama
The
first time I realized that I lived in a good neighborhood was after that storm. Walking out of the basement to see the
devastation all around was humbling to say the least, but it was comforting to
know that my neighbors were there and willing to help if they could. Luckily, I only lost a couple of trees and
both fell away from the house that night. If that wasn’t enough, my ‘Dawgs beat ‘Bama in OT. We lost to UGA the next day and power was
restored a week or so later but that hour or so after was wonderful.
Thursday
night’s frivolities weren’t near that magnitude – in storm quality or audience participation
but it still felt just about right to me.
Past the excitement of the squall and the resultant peaceful quiet and
the requisite reconnecting with the ‘hood; the most wonderful piece of after was as it always is, the color of
the light. It doesn’t seem like air can
or should change color but it does. Or
that the sky can become so passive and emotive so quickly after erupting in
violent spectacle moments before. That
magnificent dreamy glow paralyzes me. That wonderful after makes the storm not only tolerable but welcome. With every tempest comes the promise call of
a clearing sky and the soothing response of cleansed spirit.
I
like to think that it’s God’s way of saying, “My bad, I got a little carried away with that one.”
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