They do not go gentle into the night, Katrina, Ike & Gustaff, throwing our

domesticity into turmoil and disarray, tools of the unliving, oracles of

destruction,  wrapping us with unfathomed wind and force to glass,

stone and metal, pounding us, drowning us by disciplining us of our

graces, husbanding destruction on us all, these lords and stewards of

their own excellence, deciding who shall live or die? Festering winds

pouring the smells of dead fish and disease, on top of us, robbing us of

our dreams and dignity, leaving the bones of our civilized selves turned

to kindling, we're all sad, tired and wet, wading and waiting for reprieve

from our angry planet.

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