High gray clouds drift across the sky, dark and menacing, pregnant with the impending flood.
The tide rips and turns, a dangerous undertow covered by a deceptive friendly froth.
Out on the sea, weaving its way through the Caribbean islands lurks the monster, sucking strength from the depths, building her roar.
What havoc will she wreak?
Beachgoers cut their vacations short, tuck tail, and run.
The paranoid board their homes.
The worriers buy another generator, a backup to the one installed in their garage—just in case.
The prudent stock up on batteries and water.
The fearful vacillate between the desire to evacuate and the need to cook all their frozen food—such a dilemma.
Hurricane season in Florida welcomes its first predator—Arlene, the vanguard of doom with predictions of many to follow in her wake.
Personally, I’m sick of it all.
I’m tired of the glamorization by the media, the worst is yet to come syndrome, the hundred-year deluge, the twister of the century, the perfect storm.
In a world of multiple choice, I choose “none of the above” or “other.”
I’m going to the shore to stick my toes in the surf and let the wind buffet me for a while.
If I miss my timing and get slammed by a wall of rain, so what?
How wet can I get between the edge of the sand and the safety of the parking lot, a cozy, warm car that will carry me to a hot toddy, a dry shirt, and another dose of the weather channel (just in case?)
I certainly don’t mean to mock Mother Nature.
Without a doubt she frequently asserts her omnipotence.
What about a different tack?
Why not dance with her, the great outdoors as one gigantic ballroom that plays all sorts of music according to her mood?
Drink in the magic of a lightning storm at midnight.
Stand in a summer downpour at 3 in the afternoon and pretend it’s your grandmother’s old metal sprinkler, the one you skipped through over and over shrieking with glee.
Adopt the savage hair blown look instead of a crafted coiffure.
As I gaze out the window I spy the palm trees bending.
I spot the gusts streaking across the pond.
I watch a seagull flap its wings without forward motion.
The waves grow taller and deposit trails of seaweed along the coast.
Fat drops slap the sand and make tiny craters that grow into puddles and stream rivulets of fresh water into the salty sea.
Here she comes, in all her glory.
For now, I think I’ll stay inside—just in case.
That’s A View From The Ridge…
Best-selling author, Ridgely Goldsborough has written 19 books to date, 5 on emotional intelligence, and has developed a phenomenal program called CustomerConversionFormula.com that you can get absolutely free as a member of the Groove community. Also, visit Mind Types for a FREE and fun quiz that will give you a new perspective!