It's that time of the year. I walk out the door of my home, smack into a wall of heat and humidity. What's more, the angle of the sun has changed enough to say we are deep into September. That combination compels me: "go look, go look." As soon as I get to work, I check in with the National Hurricane Center, adept now at exploring the forecasts and prophecies that I have come to rely on to give me a sense of control. If I read the forecasts right, filled with words I don't know, models I've never seen, I might be able to figure out if there's a hurricane about to come together and head my way. Like knowing would change anything. Like this ritual is anything more than a surrender into magical thinking. I don't like hurricane season, not one little bit...
Pics of Ft Lauderdale After Hurricane Wilma
