I imagine it as a solid wall of wind and water, standing as tall as the sky. Dark and dreary, full of energy, and yes, fire, the inner cauldron giving it life. I see it moving over water, a firm beast seeking its prey, then scourging the land, destruction its cause, life taker, home wrecker. This solid mass that no one can stop.
But it’s not solid.
It’s air and water moving at incredible speeds, elements that pass through your hand as you wave it above your head, or scoop it up from a clear stream. You can’t hold it, nor can you hold it back. You can’t put up barricades against it. You can’t push it away. You can’t put your shoulder to it, forcing it to stay where it is, off-shore, where it can spin out in a lonely death. You can’t endure it like a summer storm, while you keep safe inside next to the fireplace warm and cozy.
You can only hide from it. Run off to some other place while it seeks for you in another direction. Somewhere else with your fears and hopes and dreams as your companions.
The hard part is taking what you value most as you evacuate. The thing I value most is my home. But I can’t take it apart and load it into a truck. I can’t put wheels on it and push it to safety. I can only hope it’s still there once the worst has passed. Even with holes in it is better than not being there at all.
I can only hope for the best. For my home to survive, for me to survive. A selfish desire, for I have friends and family to look to for shelter and comfort. I’m only thinking about myself, and not the countless other humans in the same place I am. Just me, and my future.
Does this make me a bad person, to only think of myself in a time of great tragedy? Maybe. Right now I can’t help to think of what could be the outcome. I’m sure there are many others who are thinking the same thing. These people also have futures to consider, homes to worry about, jobs, loved ones, and things left behind. But they are not me, and I’m feeling lonely and afraid.
So lonely. So afraid.
Arid Testimony 