The land of the place called Florida is again in the place of the receiving the wrath of the water and the wind and the rain. It is Hurricane season. Here it is in our second month of the season and we are already up to the E name – Elsa. Elsa isn’t very strong, but she was moving very quickly. The Caribbean has had three fatalities.

Right now, there is no wind, but there is a light rain and crickets. Are they happy? Are they complaining?

Hurricanes are quite exciting. I am well aware of their danger, and perhaps that’s what makes it exciting. I know that I’m not alone in my anticipation. Actually, my anticipation starts in May when I know that in June the potential for storms will begin.  

I’m not partial to hurricanes. I like most storms. When the thunder makes the house shake, I am terrified. When the winds blow the trees and my big oak trees in the yard groan with the torque of it speed, I consider there may be a tree in my living room today, and yet I revel in the howls she screams.

What I don’t like are tornados.

Tornados cause destruction that is like ripping a Band-aid off your whole body. The pain it causes it immense. Tornados have no remorse. Like the locust who strips the field bare in its quest to feed its natural instinct.

There are memes about the crazy Floridian stocking up on liquor and hoping the hurricane comes on a workday. Memes are often true. This year, we don’t have the work thing too much because the pandemic is still loosely gripping business.

I have been in Florida for about sixteen years and was greeted by Hurricane Frances in 2004, one of the four hurricanes that roared through central Florida that year. We spent our first week without water, power, and very little food. We couldn’t take showers and it was sweltering hot – I’d say hot as hell, but that misnomer wouldn’t do. Hell is forever, and although those seven days in September 2004 may have felt forever, there was escape.

Remembering those early days of hurricane visits prompts me to prepare for the guests. Elsa isn’t expected to pass through my town, but some of her accoutrements will. As she is traveling up the coast to the east of us, we are what they say is on the dirty side of the hurricane. The dirty side can spawn children from Elsa, The dreaded tornado threat. But I don’t think so much about that as I prepare for the possibility of losing power. I never want to be as hot as I was my first week here.

Amazon has brought me a rechargeable fan and lamp, so I’m good to go.

The reason that I don’t worry too much about the storms is because I have my trust put in the one who controls the weather. I know He will keep me safe. My love of storms stems from my love of the Almighty God who controls all. A storm, to me, is the purest form of God’s strength and  power. I don’t profess to know how God uses weather, or what His intention is with the display of grandeur, but I love the feel of power that I see when the thunder rumbles, sometimes seemingly for infinite moments which feel as if time stops. Or the flash of the lightning, which lights up the night and can take down a tall oak tree in an instant. The rain pelting down both washing the earth and threatening it at the same time. The intensity is amazing.

Yes, I know I can be seen as foolish in my great expectation each year, but I am full of respect and awe for the enormity with which can prevail from nature’s fury.

What we see on a stormy night is an outer display of the inner turmoil that goes on inside. Sometimes there are thunderbolts and lightning jolting my mind, pulling my body into many different directions. Sometimes the rain continues for so long that I can no longer feel my pulse as I am saturated with the weight of tears I carry inside. Sometimes it gets dark and the silence is deafening, just like when the eye of the storm passes over the plain and the world feels perfect, only to move on leaving a torrent of chaos in its wake. Leaving the survived to pick up the pieces and try again to set the world right.

Each June a new list of names are published of our potential future guests. Elsa is today’s guest. She is the Disney princess from Frozen. I find the irony amusing, but wonder why these names are chosen. I think that the hurricanes should be named after bands. You know, Metallica is coming, or Black Sabbath, or even Pink or Mozart. Perhaps the band could influence the severity of the storm. You know, like God, the next storm is Beethoven so let’s keep it slow. Alright, a bit crazy, but what’s the difference between Elsa, or Frances, or Xerxes? Hey, maybe they should be mythological….

We will weather the storm, as they say. Preparing our batteries, and generators. We will drink our wine and beer as the storm passes, or we will just sleep through it, praying everything is ok. Perhaps this is the purpose of storms – to remind the world that there is someone in control. You may call it mother nature, as some do, and you may just think it’s a scientific phenomenon, but you gotta have respect for a force that is far greater than the little things that we are. It is a big world, with far greater happenings than we can see. I will continue to revel in the power of forces that only present themselves sporadically, and keep musing over what it all means, inside the turbulent soul and the turbulent chaos of the world – remembering that a storm comes, a storm goes, and we pick up the pieces, till the next one comes along.