The Storm Is Never The End of the Story

A couple walks arm in arm, runners sprint past, and grown men whiz by on bikes. A little boy cries crocodile tears as he tries to maneuver the trike with training wheels. The trail is full today, but so are the ditches on either side.

A week of gray skies and pounding rain kept us indoors, the pathway empty. Yesterday’s storm raged, the wind violently ripping branches, and we sidestep what has haphazardly fallen, careful to avoid the trees split in half that nearly block the way. The small dips ...