Guest Column: ‘Drama of darkness and the wind’s discontent’
Published 9:58 am Friday, February 28, 2025
Here at the Old Folks Home, as my high school friend realistically reminds us, the power went off Monday evening.
No generator supplied power to our individual rooms, so we sat in semi-darkness, listening to the wind thrum. Nothing wrong with going to bed at 6 p.m., I thought. And did.
Hunkered down beneath the colorful Gee’s Bend quilt handsewn by an elderly black woman of Boykin, Alabama, I thought about her there when the power goes out …
Outside, the wind growled in earnest, singing its lament in higher, then lower notes, its litany of threat and storm. A Greek chorus of woe and gloom.
Every so often, the wind paused to catch its breath. And we, uneasy in the lowering light and with our CPAP machines silent and our breathing ever so slightly labored, attempted the escape of sleep.
Six-light patterns, cast through my window by passing cars, flowed along the wall, then faded. With the passing, the hope that it might be someone coming to fix the generator also went out.
As the storm continued to mumble its dissatisfaction, I pondered indulging myself in the comfort of an old Agatha Christie mystery on tape. Better not to spend the phone’s battery, I thought.
As the storm continued to mumble its dissatisfaction, I pondered indulging myself in the comfort of an old Agatha Christie mystery on tape. Better not to spend the phone’s battery, I thought.
How is my blind friend across the hall coping with our powerlessness? Should I get up and go see? Then I remembered, she’s God’s dear child and He is there with her in the darkness. And also with me …
The power and lights momentarily flick on, then off, reminding us that they can come on if they will but they aren’t up to it just yet.
As the drama of darkness and the wind’s discontent continues, small bodily aches and pains come to the fore, taking center stage. Do I get up and do something about them, or do I just continue trying to ignore them?
All the while, the wind continues to scold, muttering its discontent with the discomforts of high pressure and low, its wow and flutter sounding like parents of old arguing in another part of the house.
My bedding tangles. Puts me in mind of wrack of kelp on the beach …
Finally, sleep intervenes. Blessed sleep.
