Last night while the wind howled and lightning lit up the night sky, I fell, at last, into an uneasy sleep.
Trees torn from their roots and shingles scattered across the dirt roads, not one animal was to be seen.
Even they understood the meaning of fury. My grandmother came before me, wavering in and out of Spirit, to whisper an unfinished sentence…”White people are planning…”
A loud thud awakened me and I never got to hear the rest of her statement. As I looked with hesitation at my neighbourhood, I was stricken to see darkness in the stark of morning, branches lying like twisted broken bones in the street and pieces of houses lying discarded and neglected.
Is this a foreshadowing of a near future for us? Waiting like succulent lamb for slaughter?
Not one person can convince me that this storm was “normal.”
Frost, rain, snow, hail and 90 mph winds in the span of 12 hours? I wanted to chuckle as seasoned meteorologists became flabbergasted by this unpredictable storm they aptly named “Frankenstorm.”
One thing I’ve learned from careful observation of my enemies is the way they tell you the raw truth blanketed in colourful jargon.
Now that my nerves have calmed and my thinking is as sharp as ever, I only have one piece of advise for the family…
They have only just begun.