Surviving the night was step one. Surviving amid the storm debris was a longer term challenge, and for that we'd need each other. Homes were taken to their foundations, walls gone. From comfort to homegrown refugee in twenty four hours. From TV watcher of horror to sufferer. Knowing our own responses, or lack of compassion toward others, we knew what to expect. This was on us. We'd rise or fall as a community.
Storm debris was strewn as if daring us to rebuild. We will. This time in ways that make us stronger and more resilient, ways compatible with mother nature.
The storm had passed, the clean up was a task almost beyond the comprehension of mortal hearts. It was felt by the soul, expressed by the tears, and translated into action by the stoicism of compassionate logical action.
The pattern of the dirt upon the pane was the fingerprint of the storm passed, a baggage given to the glass and taken on in silent acceptance.
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