Hurricane Irene chased me across the Atlantic. Not finding me at home in the Bahamas, she tore a few shingles off the house and headed for New England, looking for me there. Again disappointed, she knocked down our power lines, sniffed the air to catch my scent, and headed for Ireland, where, as I write, she is lashing the windows with rain and washing the gravel out of the driveway.
I don't take it personally. Irene's gotta do what she gotta do. "Nature is ever at work building and pulling down, creating and destroying, keeping everything whirling and flowing, allowing no rest but in rhythmical motion, chasing everything in endless song out of one beautiful form into another," wrote John Muir.
And Lord knows it's been that kind of summer. No two settled days in a row. A rip-roaring front sloshing in from the Atlantic every 48 hours. Then interludes of sun. With rainbows to separate the acts.
The great churning earth engine, whirling, flowing, building and pulling down. Hurricanes, Tornados. Earthquakes. Tsunamis. Nothing we can do about it. Fleas on a dogs back.
Sit back and try to enjoy what we can. Do you remember that episode in one of Muir's books where he gets caught in a furious blizzard in the High Sierras? He climbs up in a tree so that he can more intensely experience the force of the storm, hanging on for dear life as the tree lashes back and forth. One endless song after another, he says. One beautiful form blowing into another.