I don't know.
I did my crunches, my stretches, started laundry, downloaded a new book, took up my walking stick and headed out because what else do you do? Sit home and tremble?
Sometimes. Sometimes you do but if you can, it's best to move.
And so I did, down the sidewalk and onto the little path where the beautiful old house under the beautiful old trees sits, it's Make America Great Again: Trump! sign still there up next to the ancient wire fence.
The other day as we drove past the truck stop it looked closed and Mr. Moon told me that he'd driven past it the other morning early and no lights were on and so I went to explore that and sure enough.
This leaves the one convenience store and Subway right next to the truck stop open and that store is scarier than the truck stop ever was. No matter when you go in there you see the same employee- an old woman whom Flannery O'Connor might have been frightened by, her skin as blue pale as skim milk, her eyes somehow flat and wild, both, as if she were eternally and always being held hostage, as if she would simply discorporate if she so much as dared step outside the store, and I've always suspected she sleeps on a cot somewhere in the nethers of the place. And yet, she manages somehow to ring up the purchases made by unsuspecting travelers who have wandered off the interstate, the local people who have no transportation or other choice.
Well. I walked and I walked and I sweated and I sweated and now I'm home and feeling no less anxious but tired, so I guess that's an improvement although it hardly feels like it.
I'm going to eat some lunch and shower and go to a nursery and buy my bedding plants, my seeds, even as I am thinking of Haiti and wondering if it will even be there after this storm passes, people living in tents still, all these years after the earthquake. I am thinking of how much damage the relatively mild storm which hit our area just over a month ago did and wondering how in hell life can be preserved when a storm with twice the windspeed covers an island where people live in such tenuous conditions on hillsides and beside crumbling walls.
I am thinking of so much today, too much, some of it close to home and some of it far away and wondering how we humans can go on, day after day, and yet- we do. We do.
We go on and we hold on and somedays we wake up and it's all right we felt tenderly held in the light and those days do come.
I wonder what's going to happen with the truck stop?
Like so many things- I have no control over that at all.