It's been raging around here only since sometime Sunday night, but it's beginning to sound like it will be with us forever. At 5 a.m. today the wind from extratropical storm Sandy's wake was still screeching around Belcher Mountain. It has stripped almost every leaf from the trees in our woods, sent the angel trumpet vines to an early end, knocked over heavy pots containing dwarf spruces, scattered deck chairs, turned over rockers and brought down limbs all over the place. Each day I wait until dawn to see whether trees have come down, too. If this storm had arrived in September, with a summer's full dress of greenery still covering their limbs, I expect we'd have to be cutting more firewood from toppled trees.
The sounds remind me of those lines from Samuel Taylor Coleridge's "Rime of the Ancient Mariner." He was writing about a ship surrounded by ice, but it serves Sandy's purpose nicely:
It cracked and growled, and roared and howled,
Like noises in a swound!
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