Day Before the Storm

It's very quiet in Georgetown on the day before the hurricane. The skies are gray and gloomy, heavy with their knowledge of the impending violence about to be released on the town. No one is in a hurry anymore, few on the roads, no sounds but the birds. Waiting. People and nature, waiting.

 

The hurricane flag, a black square on a bright red field, can't be missed as you enter the main street of town.

 

No problem finding a parking place today. Only Aunny's Home Cooking and the Coffee Cup Cafe were open for a while this morning. Sand bags were being delivered to the side of the street on the harbor, ready to be stacked against each door.

 

The shrimp boats were cozied up together for safety, tight against the dock.

First shift seems to be at work at the paper mill.

 

Hurricane shutters are pulled in tight and secured on the old houses. This is one of the oldest, built before the American Revolution. How many hurricanes have those shutters witnessed, I wonder.

 

Back through the park, the tulip trees are in bloom!

That's crazy.

They are supposed to bloom in the spring.

We have reservations at a hotel a couple hours inland for tomorrow night and Saturday night but we are still hoping we won't have to go. The predictions of Matthew's path are tantalizing as we are north of Charleston, just north of the ever-changing spot where it will (or won't) veer off into the Atlantic.

Don't worry; we will be sensible!

 

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