Monday, October 29, 2012

Sandy...Knocking at the Door

Still here, still with power, though I see the wind picking up.  Since this was the year of Laura Ingalls Wilder, I'm reminded of my favorite, The Long Winter.  A hurricane isn't a blizzard, but last night, sleeping fitfully, anxious about what would happen in the day ahead, it was easy to relate to Laura and her family out in De Smet, SD.

But even after Laura was warm she lay awake listening to the wind's wild tune and thinking of each little house, in town, alone in the whirling snow with not even a light from the next house shining trhough.  And the little town was alone on the wide prairie.  Town and prairie were lost in the wild storm which was niether earth nor sky, nothing but fierce winds and a blank whiteness.

For the storm was white.  In the night, long after the sun had gone and the last daylinght could not possibly be there, the blizzard was whirling white.

A lamp could shine out through the blackest darkness and a shout could be heard a long way, but no light and no cry could reach through a storm that had wild voices and an unnatural light of its own.

The blankets were warm and Laura was no longer cold but she shivered.

Laura could have used a good dose of Facebook, which I do find comforting during a time like this.


DC-area author Leslie Pietrzyk explores the creative process and all things literary.