You may have noticed that the summer of this strange year has reached a peak. We are about to cast aside the warmth of July and trade it for the Dog Days of August. Congress is going on break, and the dearth of news that is actually new has left us to swelter with endless repetitions of old scandals. As a break from that, Mother Nature has provided a reprise of something familiar but new.

It was spectacular and unmuted. We were sitting on the Patio when the first faint blasts of thunder were heard to the north. Above the West tower of the building the skies were still patched with blue but layers of darkening clouds were sweeping in. There was a flicker of flashing lightning low to the west, far enough away to not yet be part of the sound track.

We finished burning tobacco and consumed the remains of liquids in glass containers in preparation as the clouds lowered into darkness sweeping over the branches that shelter us from the late sun. But the high pressure front was adamant and inbound and the rising noise and the start of blowing moisture pressed us back inside Big Pink’s equally adamant flanks.

The front was impressive on arrival. In addition to the blasts of thunder echoing in our horseshoe at the rear of the building, the power abandoned the pretense of normalcy. We could feel the wind rising as the outside door began to rattle in the frame. The strength of the building was a comfort, and the flat-screen was only dormant for a few minutes.

That apparently was not the case elsewhere. When our communications were restored the aftermath of the Front’s passage was revealed. ‘Destructive’ was one of the words the local media preferred. Wind gusts over eighty knots were reported. Trees down. Less resolute buildings and homes knocked off the grid, with tens of thousands of consumers left in the dark.

Although relatively brief in passage, it was described as the fiercest storm in months to sweep over the National Capital Region. It was a dramatic contrast to the more artificial hysteria about the boiling Atlantic and climatic alteration not seen in 175,000 years.

There is no one around to ask about any of that. We were impressed enough by the roar of wind and crash of thunder that we ventured out with the passing of the worst. The Patio was swept clean, aluminum chairs lifted into the shrubs. It took only minutes to drag things back to a semblance of order. But the news from the neighborhood just south across the Big Road was startling.

Some of the trees gave up, and newly-constructed porches and refurbished roofs were smashed askew. The phones lit up with informational texts and a few pleas for access to in-home generators or a dry place to sleep.

We are OK, and have no immediate requirement for men with chainsaws, goggles, heavy wire and pullies and industrial steel dumpsters. The skies on this Sunday are clear and blue, and the scattered light white clouds uplifting and un-threatening. Mother Nature is a remarkable thing, isn’t she?

Copyright 2023 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com