The thing about the storm is that you see it coming from far, the diffuse darkening, the undercurrent electricity, the quickening of the pace, critters running away. You're minding your own business, on some sort of (mental) trail, going to get something you need or crave, building a shed, a house, a small green vase, when all of a sudden you're in the thick of it. The signs you ignored, the little things overheard here and there. Now that it's upon you. What could have been done? You're so small and it is so incredibly huge! It started with the flute and now it's The Pastoral, the third movement, the horns deafening earlier warnings. The time to act was yesterday. To clamp down, to flee, to jot down instructions.

I know what you'll say. And leave the fruits of a whole life behind? I worked hard, this is my domain, these relationships I've developed during half of a lifetime, shared jokes and hardships, loves and betrayals that taught me well. I'm too old, too set in my ways, in my language, in my geography to start again. Too tired for it.

And yet, this is what we've done time and time again. The Huns pushed us East, the Arabs South West. The war of brothers made us climb into shelters and isolation to stockpile food, water, weapons. But the coming storm? What can you do about a virtual thing that flows through sockets, through charged air, by chemistry, and enters directly into the deep recesses of the mind, erasing the dearest childhood memories and dragging you into a dark hell? How do you prepare for that? I'll tell you how: by courage. By the absolute realization of the flimsy nature of everything, really, if you think about it, by the hilarity of it!


Jam24