Non Fiction

It's midnight. High above me, thousands of stars twinkle in the night sky. Waves crashing on the beach break the silence within the darkness. To my right, a trailing reflection of the full moon glistens on the ocean's surface. Two ships in the distance slowly move left across the water. Behind them, flashes of light illuminate a cloud hovering on the horizon. Visions of earlier in the day enter my mind. 

I'm driving south on I75 from Georgia to assist in the cleanup after Hurricane Michael. The further I drive, the more devastation I see. Billboards are nothing but debris. Houses have tarps covering their roofs from the storm's damage. Trees are uprooted, and powerlines are flattened by the high winds. 

Linemen are vigorously working to restore power to the millions of Florida residents without it. The loss is heartbreaking, but even in the aftermath of the violent storm, communities come together.

On the outskirts of Tallahassee, I see tents lining mall parking lots. More are on church grounds, and even the homeowners are opening their homes to the evacuees. People are cooking on grills for their neighbors, others are handing out water, and many more are giving comforting hugs. 

As I near my island destination, a convoy of police speeds by. I come upon a detour. The coastline road is impassable.  

As these thoughts vanish, the flashes of light behind the ships slowly dissipate. My head slowly falls and rests on the table. Hours later, I wake and stroll down to the bedroom, lie on the bed, and fall asleep. Fortunately, the island sustained minimal damage, compared to other parts of Florida. 

Several days pass. Cleanup at the island home is complete. 

The electricity is restored, and we drive back to Georgia. 

Three months pass quickly, and we make another trip to the island for repairs. On the drive down, once again I see the devastation. In the aftermath of a powerful storm such as Michael, it could take years to recover.