It’s no run-of-the-mill view from a plane window. Today I flew through and then over the remnants of Hurricane Florence 9/14/18 – 9/18/18.
I felt awe looking out at the clouds making their final assault on the East Coast of the US. Just south of here, dozens of people lost their lives in this hurricane.
Now I am looking at what’s left of it.
You can see the clouds reaching up to the sun rise. They looking like arms stretching out into the sky, the way arms must have stretched out from under the flood waters.
I felt humbled. It was moving to look out over that powerful storm. And still, it was over. I was watching the raging power dissipate. The storm grew weaker by the hour. Soon it would be silent.
There’s no traffic in flooded streets. As powerful as they are, hurricanes bring plenty of silence.
I’ve always lived on the East Coast. I’ve experienced hurricanes. We lost a 120 year old tall pine during Hurricane Irene in August 2011. The storm was so loud and fierce we didn’t even hear the massive tree hit the ground. It shocked us to see it when the sun came up, as if the tree fell and didn’t make a sound.
As a child in Florida, my cousin and I ran outside during the eye of a storm. Of course, our parents were horrified. It’s so quiet inside of the eye. People describe it as eerie silence. I thought it was peaceful, amazingly abruptly calm.
