There are loaves and loaves of pineapple zucchini bread cooling.  The yard is almost free of branches.  The sidewalks and the patio and the pavers, swept.  Norah is singing to me and I'm looking up pineapple mango sauce recipes because I have pineapple coming out my ears.  I have four hours left to be quiet until I leave and go about the other parts of life.  Four hours and I need them.

We had a big storm roll through Saturday and with the storm, people.  The wind blew and blew and trees fell everywhere.  Our house filled with friends and family and we made second dinner late into the night on the grill and drank bottles of wine and we watched the tree fall on the neighbor's house, on the wires, across the street.  I had never thought to be afraid of trees.  They stayed late enough to hear the dull roar of chainsaws and then they left, navigating dark, dark streets, driving around the fallen, happy to find their homes still standing.

There are no warnings here.  I was about to go out for my long run when the sky shifted and things started flying.  Husband and I ran from window to window, checking on the trees that are as old as this house and I kept repeating, this has been standing for over a hundred years, over a hundred years, over a hundred years.  We ate nachos in the stairwell.  We checked on our people.  And then they started showing up.  And the rest of the weekend had me totally in love with this space.  The rest of the weekend was sharing our tub and our kitchen and our flashlights with friends who were still without power.  It was neighbors checking on neighbors and shared meals.

The strong community this small town creates and gives pulls me closer to Him.  Does that make sense?  It must.