Driving through a quiet town in the rain waiting for a hurricane while water fell faster than I could see, darkness snuck past my headlights.

Earlier people drank at the bar while storm Irene approached. Gripping their drinks they watched the weather through fogged windows. Rain hit the pavement. Puddles filled. Sidewalks glistened.

Give us a hurricane drink, they said. OK. Dark rum, light rum, lime juice and Grenadine and shake. Impending floods and lightning filled the news. Roads closed after dark.

Finally at home I have a glass of wine and listen to water snap across rhododendron leaves and splash from the gutters. Thunder might come, and flooding. Daylight might break on a buried landscape, washed away and unfamiliar, or just heavily drenched with tall plants tired from bending in the rain.