Flight

 

September 28, 2024

Folly Beach. The waves are pink with sunset. 

Rose this morning facing the prospect of indeterminate days without water, without power, without internet or cellular service: threw some gear into a bag and drove to Folly Beach. I suppose that makes me a refugee. My rabbit and my turkeys were gleaning the ruins when I left. As I drove 19/23 toward I-26, I could see the French Broad to my right, a mighty river, light brown and turbulent and wide as the Ohio. Meadow Road and River Road are completely and profoundly inundated. The River Arts District is gone. Water touches the roofs of the buildings. What I feared most came to pass– All Souls is being called “a total loss.:Water came to the ceiling of the offices, and in the sanctuary reached the foot of the altar. Someone said “the walls are collapsing,” though what that could mean I’m not sure. As a docent I pointed proudly to the cushions and kneelers and pews and chairs and the intricate floor and said, “these are all exactly as they were when the church was opened in 1896" This never can be said again. This is the greatest shock in my life that does not involve the death of a person. Only upon arrival here could I get a sense of what happened to Asheville, as all forms of communication are kaput there. I know more than anyone whjo sleeps in the dark tonight on Lakeshore Drive. 

I never had a full sense of the destruction a hurricane can cause. I would rather have kept my innocence. It is awesome, though. If I were Shelley I would rhapsodize. 

Had vodka in Planet Follywood, where I met Scott, who was born in Cleveland and adopted into a family in Marietta. He came to Folly because he “fell in love,” though with the town or a woman he did not reveal. A street festival, “Mermaids and Mateys,” clogged the main street when I arrived. A grackle sang and preened on my balcony as I unpacked. 

Vodka comforted me into troubled sleep.