Flash flood watches are issued, streets are closed, stranded motorists are rescued and put on the news. The park down the street is underwater, some sections of the city are impassable. Sirens can be heard night and day - police, fire, emergency vehicles - all rushing from one disaster to the next. The weather channel puts together a slide show of high water pictures, everything from flooded out intersections to bayous overflowing their banks to collapsed roads. There's water everywhere. Everywhere. The ground is so saturated it bubbles up under my feet. It's like walking on wet sponges. Ark jokes are popping up on social media sites and rumor is that the city ran out of "High Water" signs.
It's depressing, wearying, hard to take and for some, a little hopeless. There's been no sunshine in over a week. Lost in the wet and the dark, the light at the end of the tunnel flickers and then goes out. It's no longer just good sleeping weather. We reach our limits without the light and my insomnia kicks into high gear, my mood darkens, worry and stress take hold. All the things I manage to not think about when the sun is shining gather forces and seep into my soul. I'm feeling cold again and hating the very sound of the rain. On the seventh morning, I feel like a damp mop left to dry in a cold wash bucket. A hot shower and a change of clothes helps - only a little - and then I realize I hear birds singing. With my heart in my throat I check the forecast - 66 with a 20% chance of rain, 70 and sun tomorrow - then four more days of rain.
I try my best to focus on the bird songs.
It's depressing, wearying, hard to take and for some, a little hopeless. There's been no sunshine in over a week. Lost in the wet and the dark, the light at the end of the tunnel flickers and then goes out. It's no longer just good sleeping weather. We reach our limits without the light and my insomnia kicks into high gear, my mood darkens, worry and stress take hold. All the things I manage to not think about when the sun is shining gather forces and seep into my soul. I'm feeling cold again and hating the very sound of the rain. On the seventh morning, I feel like a damp mop left to dry in a cold wash bucket. A hot shower and a change of clothes helps - only a little - and then I realize I hear birds singing. With my heart in my throat I check the forecast - 66 with a 20% chance of rain, 70 and sun tomorrow - then four more days of rain.
I try my best to focus on the bird songs.
No comments:
Post a Comment