She's hard and she's cold and she's mean...
For us the living, the track Hurricane Ida's on is that of the following of the Devil's Daughters: Camille. Katrina.
What worries me here is that when the real killers come... sixteen years is a long time. Long enough for the tree limbs to grow up through the power lines. For the detritus to build up in the canals.
For folks to forget. Or just not know, because they came in after. And have only seen the little storms, if that.
Over here where we are, the local hotels have filled up with Louisiana license plates. I'm glad when I see that, because it means those who can hit the road as soon as the forecasts became clear, no fooling around.
But there will always be those who won't or can't hit the road. And the next three days will be brutal, the during and the after.
A little more than a year after Katrina, my wife and daughter and I drove through on our way to Long Island. In Mississippi, Katrina's eyewall had left a clear path through the pines, a couple hundred yards wide and miles long, parallel to the highway north to Jackson.
Growing up, Camille just... Camille, like Audrey, could silence a room just by mentioning her.
The Devil's brood grows. I just hope Ida doesn't add to the body count.
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Please keep it on the sane side. There are an awful lot of places on the internet for discussions of politics, money, sex, religion, etc. etc. et bloody cetera. In this time and place, let us talk about something else, and politely, please.