The fear that was once the clouds, the fear that had spent so long as fog, condensed into a concrete pathway. No more crouching, no more running without the blessing of seeing even a foot ahead. To spin, to see the three-sixty is breathtaking. The gall. The shameless gall of it all. Yet now all there is to do is walk with casual ambiance. Stroll. Glide. Welcome the morrow with a hero's eyes.
From the depths of hell came a firebird, her songs not of flame but love. And in the early morning light, beneath a rising sun, she raised her head to sing - the melody a salve. Though clear and true not all could hear and, though she sung to unlock their hearts, the love died cold at their feet and turned to ash. For the rest it was a song of salvation, of the power of love and eternal redemption.
When the roof slats of the hut began to fly into the air Papa told us to go to the hurricane pit. It wasn't much and we hated to go, there were no windows, no ventilation. It was right next to the door but even then we had to hold onto one another and Papa held onto baby Joe like he was frightened he'd blow right away. Once we were in Mama and Papa heaved over the wooden boards and sent the bolts home into the frame. Then we huddled listening to the screaming of the wind above, it was louder even than baby Joe when he has one of his fits but through the whole thing he just cuddled and didn't say a thing. Then after more noise than I could ever have imagined possible it was more quiet than the pre-dawn even though the sun shone brightly though the cracks in our covering. After wanting to climb out for so long no-one moved for what felt like an age. Then Papa slid the bolts back and pushed hard on the roof.
For a moment no-one could see for the brilliant sunlight, every cloud had gone, every one. The sky was a perfect blue - but that was the only thing that remained familiar. The hut Papa had build with his own hands a decade ago was half missing and what was there wasn't salvageable. Our crops were flattened and the orchard destroyed. Mama burst into tears and I expected Papa to do the same, but instead he smiled and shouted into the still air, "I'm the luckiest man alive! I have my family and I won't ask for more!" His face was resolute and serious, then he drew Mama into a hug and stroked her hair. Already we kids were fanning out to explore, find out how our world looked on the other side of a hurricane.