Running from the storm

I was living on Long Island, a hurricane was bearing down. The question was, would it strengthen or weaken? The consensus was it would weaken, so now evacuations took place. I had the weekend free, I wanted to be in New England for the storm. It was Thursday evening, I decided to be on the road by midnight.

I wasn’t far off. The hurricane had been downgraded to a tropical storm, but still packing a punch. Crossing the bridge into Manhattan the wind blew my Volkswagen Beetle into a completely different lane. That was trippy.

But once across the bridge, once on the highway into New England the wind died down. I was in Plymouth at sunrise. It was still calm. I wandered the streets, into the burial ground. Saw the clouds the clouds piling up over the ocean, felt the wind pick up, smelled the sea on the breeze. I moved on and spent some time Plimoth Plantation, wandering back in time to the earliest settlement here.

As I left the park I saw the waves churning and boiling in Plymouth harbor, and so made for it. I wanted waves, I wanted to see the power of the sea and it was as though the ocean was posing for me. My camera was to my eye, and you’re in a different world then, cut off from reality and only seeing the world through a lens. So I didn’t see the wave coming. I was soaked.

By the time I reached Salem the deluge was upon me. It was a wet weekend.