Wind Storm

boats without docks (piers submerged) during Hurricane Isabel in 2003. Will Hurricane Sandy be a repeat?

Hurricanes really are some of the most awesome examples of the power of mother nature. I am actually looking forward to sitting in front of my sliding-glass door and watching the storm tonight. There is so much ferocious beauty in a storm like this.

However, with a powerful and beautiful force such as this, comes destruction. I am keeping everyone in my thoughts and heart, especially those who have gone missing from the HMS Bounty. The replica tall ship is where my good friends Grant and Amelia met each other and served as crew on and off for the past three years, most recently in July.

It was Hurricane Isabel in 2003, the precursor to the demise of Willard & Sons’ Boatyard, flooding the engine in the wench house, and causing $15,000 worth of damage. Later that year grandpa was diagnosed with cancer.

Come Hurricane Sandy, the boatyard is no longer our family responsibility, but you still feel that urge deep in your chest to go down by the water and ensure the lines are tied properly and watch the storm. If grandpa were here, he would have spent all weekend preparing, and would be out there in the storm ensuring the safety of the customers’ boats.

During Hurricane Floyd in September of 1999, I wrote this poem, and it seems appropriate to share now…

The Wind Storm (by Emily A Willard)

The wind was blowing so hard.
Screaming at the windows, begging to be let in.
The rain fell in bushels slicing the air and the wind,
Everything in its path.

The tree’s leaves looked tired from holding onto the branches. Their light white-green under bellies upturned, like drowned fish.
The leaves
Drowned by air and water.

The summer turned to autumn that day. Helpless leaves loosing strength and succumbing to the power of the wind.
Their violent death, spiraling to the ground, washed away by the wind and the water. Young leaves ripped from the knobby brown fingers.

The greenery among the wind, racing by, shrieking as if an exhale from the bowels of the earth; murderous and destructive, this lifeless moan.

Each tender underbelly exposed for splitting and ripping from the fingers, being stolen and whisked away.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s