Friday. A gorgeous fall day. I walked through our neighborhood on my way to vote. I passed rows of neatly sawed limbs stacked along the curbs. Three weeks before in the first quiet hours of the aftermath, we emerged to find the world uprooted and akilter. Immense trees, fallen giants sprawled across streets, yards, homes, cars. Now, on my walk to the polls, I ran into two friends and we talked about what everybody talks about now. Are y'all okay? Did you have damage? Then on to, What did y'all lose? What have you gotten back?
I sensed mostly Democrats in the line. People were friendly. Happy to be out participating. Happy to be out, period. Inside, the actual voting ran like clockwork. I made sure to thank the election workers. Back outside, I ran into an old friend. We expressed our perplexity that the race was even a race. The poll closed not long after I voted. The parking lot was empty except for campaign signs that stood like a row of exclamation points. On my walk home, I passed a wooded lot that was now scorched earth with great mounds of aftermath bulldozed into heaps. Even so, as I walked, I became aware that the air was blessedly chilly, the shadows invitingly deep and leaves scuttled across streets the way they do every autumn. (Photo by Connie when she sat with Grover on our porch the morning Helene arrived.)