The Big Storm that Wasn't

I am a resident of a fragile island, it affords me endless access to breathtakingly beautiful sunsets, lonely beach walks and forty years of my own fragile footsteps in the sands of time. Born in the landlocked ruggedness of upstate New York I never cease to find wonder in this jetty of sand where I have raised my children, loved and begun to grow old. But there is something about an approaching storm that hones my love for this island home and fills me with anticipation of things forceful and yet unknown.  For days we have been warned of his approach, Earl, a category 4 storm in his heyday has now arrived diminshed to a category 1.  Last night, exhausted from the first days of school, I gathered all my beloved potted impatients plants, my tall gardenia and the few sentimental pieces of statuary that I own and brought them inside where nary a gust would break their tender stems. The trees, yawning a good 200 feet into the sky around my house have been here since the house was built. Like me, they are not as strong as they once were and there is an honest respect for their age which will cause me to bless them quietly tonight before  the storm settles upon us.  Even the sustained 35mph gusts could be dangerous.
Gloria's memory is still pretty fresh, 25 years ago she permanently bent the trees behind my deck and left the 3 of us huddling under my Yamaha Grand . My dear friend and neighbor, John had gone home to put away his picnic table and surfaced only after the wrath of the storm.  For 10 days there was no school. WE cooked on an hibachi over my recycling can. A huge frozen fish, gifted to me by a member of my church choir kept us in ice longer than anyone else.  When the fish finanally melted John and I roasted it on the fire and fed it to my cats.  It is these moments of shared fragile intimacy that make the approach of a big storm so enticing.  When the power goes out we are all vulnerable and a little scared by what might be.  The usually isolating environment of Long Island occassionally bends towards this intimacy in the face of disaster. September 11th was, sadly one of these times.  For 3 weeks people were kind to each other, walked on the beach and talked.  It is this break in the cold and austere which always quickens my sense of longing for community.
But, alas, Earl is a nonevent. It is Friday night, it is raining and I remain lonely.