The Time Between


Finding the right way home.

Days in between.

Marco fell apart. The tropical warnings came down. We got a little wind and even less rain. Dodged it.

Now comes Laura. She won’t even come close to New Orleans. She will make landfall as a Category 2 or 3 hurricane around Lake Charles. I have a fond spot in my heart for that little city. After a couple of weeks of living in nowhereville after Katrina, I set up a temporary base there. I was there about a month, then on to New Mexico.

I was reflecting about all of this last night and again early this morning. I am amazed by how much hurricanes have affected my life. Before I moved to New Orleans I never even gave them a second thought. I grew up in Southern California. We worried about earthquakes. Wildfires weren’t a thing back then.

But, now I track them. I prepare for them. I read weather reports from NOAA. I worry about outbound routes even though there is no place to evacuate to during the Age of Corona. So, we batten down the hatches and wait.

We were lucky this time. Eventually our luck will run out.

That’s for another day.

The Picture

The scene is the same old one. I cannot tell you how many times I’ve used this as a go to location. I made kind of the usual picture. When I started to process it, I thought enough of that. Let’s see where I can take this picture.

After a lot of false starts, I decided to move in an entirely new direction. I smoothed everything. I turned strong clouds into cotton candy. I sucked a lot of color out of the picture. If you look closely at the power poles — normally black looking — they look almost transparent.

Eventually I got there.

You will too.

Stay safe. Stay mighty. Look after each other. Enjoy every cup of coffee.

4 Comments

  1. You don’t have to think about hurricanes, until you do. My family moved to Beaumont when I was 6 and then Gilchrist on the Bolivar Peninsula when I was 10, and hurricanes have almost always been the backdrop of the summer. It’s interesting to hear how it feels to someone who became a hurricane-watcher in midlife. Of course, you had quite an education from the mother of all hurricane disasters in Katrina.

    I really like the picture. I makes the ordinary magical.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Bolivar Peninsula? That’s in Central City. Simon Bolivar splits like a diamond. There are two gangs there. Each takes a side poof the street. There is sort of a triangle where the street spits. Either gang can be there without shooting the other gang. Street rules? Oy.

    That’s magical, no?

    I’ll turn into the worst kind of monster tomorrow. 15 years. PTSD.

    Like

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