We are accustomed to almost ever-fair conditions here in Southern California. There is an old joke about local weather forecasters not actually needing any credentials because “75 degrees and sunny” is an accurate prediction about 95% of the time.
But as I post this, Hurricane Ike is battering my beloved home state of Texas. I remember the many tropical storms that passed through when I was growing up in Austin. The sky would fill with black clouds and the horizon would glow with an eerie, almost neon shade of green before water fell in sheets and countless lightening bolts zapped at least one old live oak into burning embers. Trees were uprooted. Neighborhoods were flooded. And those storms weren’t even hurricanes.
I don’t know what the dawn light will reveal along the delicate Texas coast where I spent so many languid, dreamy summer days as a young girl, or in Houston where loved ones now brace, batten down and bail water.
I can only send hope.