...And Still the Wind and Rain

Nature shows no mercy, yet mercy might be found

The rain has stopped, but the floodwaters have not receded. The surface is smooth and still, like an oily sheet of glass; islands of roofs and splintered utility poles; reefs of uprooted brush and branches; detritus of hundreds of lives.

Maria stands on the metal roof of her house. Strangers in boats ride down streets that have disappeared: they are collecting survivors;collecting pets; collecting the dead. They call out, but the responses are fewer and fewer. Maria does not respond; there are others in greater need—children, mothers.

The wind is rising again. Searchers are becoming more urgent. Maria hears a baby cry. She hears the mother call for help, Please take my baby to safety! The heartbreaking reply: We can't reach you through the tangled floating brush. Maria thanks God her grandchildren are safe with her daughter in Ohio.

There is a muffled explosion several houses away, some propane tank finding a spark from a utility pole; and suddenly there are pools of fire on the water, puddles of greasy flames that burn sullenly. As the sun inches toward the horizon, the limpid fires dance in the quickening wet wind, and the rescuers make haste back to the scanty harbors they came from.

The storm quickly renews its assault as dark settles in. The rain becomes heavy, becomes a downpour, turns to stinging ice-cold sheets. Darkness reigns as the oily fires are quenched by the deluge.

Maria leans against her chimney, trying to use what cover she can. Her fingers are going numb; she can't feel her feet. As a strange calm sleepiness blankets her, she thinks of Jesus on the lake of Galilee and wonders what she will see after he calms the storm tonight.

(Word Count: 287)