On Irene, Agnosticism and Miracles

I wake up to a morning that can only be called "surreally beautiful."

The weather is cool, autumnal, and breezy. The sun comes down all slanted through the trees. Our yard is dappled. Overhead, the leaves are yellow-green. The water in our creek rushes by, overflowing its banks.

Besides the mud, and the algae that drips from my neighbor's swing set, that's the only sign that yesterday was very, very different.

Yesterday, I woke up to the sound of branches cracking in the distance. The power...