What Difference DOES a Rain Make?

WILD GEESE

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting-
over and over announcing your place
In the family of things.

by MARY OLIVER 

Hurricane Matthew was here. Days stretching into weeks of predictions told us he was coming. And then he wasn't. Then he might be bad, then maybe not too bad. By the time the storm actually began to impact us, all bets were off. They just didn't know exactly what was going to happen, and they pretty much said so. 

Our preparations changed with every weather forecast. But mostly the planning was simple- stay or go.

The wind was pretty strong, and the water did breach the sea wall. My newly planted garden was partly washed out and into the yard, along with boards of all lengths from docks all around. Joe and I spent the days following Matthew's departure hunting baby plants like they were Easter eggs hidden here and there all over the yard. What we rescued were washed, re-potted, and heeled in for the winter. Apart from a day or two without power, we had no problems, and some fun times with neighbors during the lull. Friends from around the country asked if we were OK. It seems the news to the outside world was scary bad. Oh.... but then we found out where the real catastrophe was. Rain- not wind or storm surge- flooded into inland creeks and rivers and overwhelmed the little towns strung along their routes. A month later, businesses are still closed, debris piles of sheet rock, mattresses, furniture line the streets, waiting for pickup. The cleanup continues.

Meanwhile, my friends in Georgia prayed for any drops that could be blown their way. The drought continues there - now rated "extreme". What turns the storm finally took were away from inland Georgia. Only the dry windy ghost of Matthew blew against already withered leaves.

I've been thinking about this a lot- how little we were affected, how much more others suffered, how much others could have used some of that rain. Because of sadness or guilt or distraction, it has been difficult to get my mind around it.

While I've been thinking about this, I've noticed something else, too. The beach is as beautiful this fall as I've ever seen it. The soil in my washed out rock garden is now replenished, and rocks replaced. We'll wait to plant until spring, but we'll be ready when spring comes. Even where the cleanup is not finished, life is slowly getting back to normal. Pretty soon even there, the folks that lived thru it will tell the tales, but others won't be quite able to  imagine the water as high as they say it was.

From closeup, too much rain, too windy rain, too little rain generate hardships of many kinds. But looking from "high in the clean blue air", the globe is quietly readjusting. People step out of their distress to rebuild their lives, water recedes, rain finally comes again. Like the promise of the rainbow, the wild geese call "announcing your place in the family of things." In the midst of tragedy, sorrow, and disarray, it is something of a comfort to remember.