The waning crescent moon barely visible in the hazy morning sky. Mockingbirds flitting between branches, their calls a persistent chorus against the backdrop of distant chainsaws. When night falls, it’s unremarkable, just a slight dip in temperature and humidity. The neighborhood breathes, ever-recovering, never quite the same. No kids playing outside today, nor neighbors chatting on porches, no mail trucks making rounds. Only the drone of generators powering fridges, the flashing of utility trucks, from street to street. The long day. A weary sigh. Waiting for what comes next. Debby, has passed by leaving us days of cleanup and lingering puddles. Soon the Ninety degree days will feel oppressive after the brief respite of the storm, which will require lightweight, breathable clothes to keep skin from feeling sticky. Nothing demands immediate attention. Nothing surprises the eye nor troubles the spirit. Only careful, mindful steps on debris-strewn sidewalks, around fallen branches, over scattered leaves, avoiding mud and standing water that could soak through shoes. No lawnmowers running. No cars passing by with windows down and music blaring.
Quiet. Watchful. Patient. Resilient.
Noticing a slight ache in the bones from all the wet damp weather. A deep breath taken, not dramatic, not forced, but steadying and grounding. Nothing extraordinary, not really. Just recovery. Simply accepting the persistence that underlies everything.