Sunday, November 6, 2011
The storm came two days before Halloween and left the city dark. My eldest and I read by candlelight and watched lightning strikes.
During the bright morning that followed, I walked from the house to the top of the street. Fall leaves torn from trees—red and still green, bright against the snow. A power line sagged low it touched the road. A tree’s limb had flattened the chain-link fence in front of the house where the Crown of Glory van parks every Sunday morning.
In the backyard, I discovered the storm cleared much of the vegetation that grows in a fenced-in no-man’s land between my property and the neighbor’s. A plant my size—I’m a tall man—was now exposed growing from the center of a vernal pond. An odd plant. Its stem looked like bone, like a spine. Its flower, which undulated even when the air seemed still, was like the fronds of a fern. The leaves were orange.
May still be. I’ve yet to examine it more closely. Then, the fence kept me from it—though I could easily hop the fence, there was much to do. I needed to find a place where my family could stay—20 degrees the predicted temperature at sunset.
We were without power till Thursday. Today begins a regular week.