STRANGE TALES OF THE STORM. Pt. 10

Speaking of “Strange Tales of the Storm” my final story is, as I have previously alluded, related to a variable of which had someone asked me beforehand, I would have sworn was nigh on to impossible.

Hurricane Irma was nothing less than a fearsome foe, and it shared its unwelcome devastation without regard to race, color, creed, or religion. The islands of the Caribbean, Florida, Georgia, the Carolina’s and parts beyond diligently readied themselves for the fiercest storm in the history of the Atlantic Basin. With sustained winds of 185 mph and with gusts to 225 mph, the major hope of those in its pathway was that it, well, find a different path to travel.

After having pulverized Barbuda, the U.S. Virgin Islands and the Florida Keys, Hurricane Irma set its sights on the east coast of the state. However, once the fearsome cyclone reached the northern edge of Cuba, and visited its wrath on the island directly below my home state, the storm’s projected azimuth changed, and it ambled up the west coast of Florida. Thankfully, by this time the former behemoth had been somewhat cut down to size, and its Category 3 diminishing to Category 2 winds were a bit more manageable than heretofore.

Even now, the projected and actual pathway of the storm differed by 30-40 miles width-wise on the map, and the nasty thing continued to chew up the peninsula along a track which included Highlands County, and its neighboring county, Polk, in which I live and work.

And as the tempest swirled through the little town of Bartow in which I grew up, and proceeded towards our neighboring city of Winter Haven, the winds and accompanying sounds disallowed sleep for anyone. And as the thing passed over, and as I viewed local television reporting, the most bizarre phenomenon began to work its magic on the physiology of the hurricane.

The lower half of the storm fell off the radar, as if some unseen hand had amputated its lower trunk, and in its place was left half a body which refused to die, and continued to share the unholy, unwelcome symptoms of its wrath with man and beast, alike.

Before the dismembered shadow of its former self breathed its last, and “gave up the ghost,” Hurricane Irma blew through north Florida, Georgia and the Carolina’s; leaving ample proof her former existence.



by William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from (Mc)Donald's Daily Diary. Vol. 67. Copyright pending

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