Natural disasters: we read about and view them almost daily. Now enter Matthew. No, not a family member, but one shared by several of our family members. It’s a hurricane unleashed by Mother Nature as if informing us of her wrath with winds, surges, rains, floods and power outages. Recording and reporting such events is vastly different from the 1938 Big Wind event my aunts and uncles spoke about making big eyes as they did so. Mother Nature has a habit of providing us with beauty and sometimes with devastation. And we are mere mortals at her mercy. So it is with my poem today: the drill. Think of life as the drill. Accept it and move on with your lot.
Heed the weather forecasts,
Stock up on water, batteries, candles,
food. Fill up the gas tank early
to avoid the long lines. Put the pets
and other belongings in the vehicle.
Prepare for the gypsy life.
Stay put and ignore the warnings
which become more dire by
each passing hour or heed the
advice given to evacuate? If
we ignore the warnings and
need help, no one will come
and risk their lives because of
our foolish decision. Storm surges
are deadly, we are informed.
Do not wait to see before believing.
We make an informed decision to
evacuate, but our boss is not as
cautious and wise and endangers
the lives of his employees. Why?
Money, money, money.
The drill begins anew with another
decision to return from whence we
escaped Hurricane Matthew. Too soon?
No electricity. Roads and bridges
closed. Curfews in place.
Some of us stayed in place in the
snowy Northeast country. Some
opted for a warmer clime.
Our drill is different. We are older.
Content with our four seasons, the
gypsy life holds no sway. We relish
the sameness of daily life. Grateful.
Savoring happiness, we are content
with love of families, friends, our faith.
Our drill is different.