It’s dark outside. The wind is howling, almost in agony, and the rain is pelting against the windows.

I can hear the big trees around our house pushing and groaning, the wind punishing them as much as it is the house.

Hurricane Beryl is here, and I’m scared.

For days, we’ve been watching a tropical storm develop in the Gulf of Mexico. Early predictions had the storm heading into Mexico.

Then the storm inched its way north, and Corpus Christi was the entry point.

The fates intervened with an open door straight into the Houston area.

Like everyone, we got busy.

We tied the outdoor furniture to a big tree in the back of the yard and moved lighter things into the garage.

We made sure we had gas in the cars, bottled water, drinks, snacks and chips.

Lots of chips.

After that awful February freeze, we bit the bullet and bought a generator, a decision I haven’t regretted one minute.

Sunday night, we went to sleep, knowing when we woke up, the world would be different.

And it was.

About 3 a.m., the winds and rains started. At first, like a tapping at the door.

By the time 5 a.m. came around, the tapping had turned to pounding. We could hear the wind as it screeched and big branches groaning.

Not being able to see what was happening was terrifying. Horror writers have known what happens in the dark is always scarier than what happens in the daylight.

As dawn broke through, it was worse than I thought. I could see the towering pecan trees around our house swaying and bending.

To watch these old trees trying to withstand 40-mile-an-hour winds was both reassuring and scary.

I’m especially watching the sycamore tree our grandson planted a few years ago. It’s taller than our house, and now it looks like it’s made out of a rubber band.

If trees are like people, it’s better to bend than not bend and break. Let’s hope the trees know that.

At the beginning of the storm, we had internet access, and the radar was nothing but orange, red and dark yellow all around the Houston area.

We tuned in to the Houston news stations, and they were reporting outages, unbelievable as the homes without power went from the thousands to the millions.

What’s crazy is there are people driving in the storm. Either these people are incredibly stupid or there’s an emergency. That’s the only reason why someone would be driving in the middle of a hurricane.

Without warning, the wind comes roaring  through the yard, and everything in the house rattles and shakes. Then I notice the Mexican plum tree that’s provided so much shade over our pool is on its side, yanked out and thrown down by the wind.

Whenever the wind gusts, the small branches of the shrubs outside our kitchen window knock on the window, almost begging to come in.

Finally, the wind dies down, and the rain eases up. It’s the eye of the hurricane, and its eerily calm outside. We walked outside to assess the damage and see a huge limb blocking our driveway.

I hear a sound, and our neighbor, Arthur, and his teenage sons Luke and Kyle have arrived, chainsaws in hand. They saw our driveway was blocked and came to help. In times like this, having neighbors who come to the rescue is worth more than gold.

Soon, the rain starts to pick back up and so does the wind. It’s not as angry as it was a few hours ago, and we know the storm will soon be over.

We head back inside and thank the good Lord our home and lives were spared and pray others sustained little or no damage.

Later that afternoon, as I’m sitting at the kitchen table, my husband noticed a hummingbird darting in and out of the now calm bushes. I wondered where that little fella was during the storm, but he made it through.

And so will we.

Neighbors will help friends, the power will come back on, we’ll all replant and replace.

We made it.

 

Denise’s email is dhadams1955@yahoo.com