Our neighbor saw the vortex. We stood stunned, unable to move even when we knew we should be concerned for our safety. Large branches were flying off of the long-lived tree in front of the pier. As the wind and rain increased, the right third of the tree began swaying almost rhythmically, its branches dipping close to the sand. We expected to hear the crack and see it in repose on the ground. Then, the storm increased in intensity, and we had no view at all.
This was the second storm of the morning. The first, in the early hours, left us without electricity, without a way to brew coffee. Seemed like a good idea to climb back in bed until the rain had stopped and the sun appeared. Without access to computer or television, we read.
It was the darkness that alerted us to the approaching storm. We had no other warning than the disappearing page.
Seventy to eighty mile-per-hour winds and two water spouts on Lake Macatawa were reported. Our neighborhood had been ravaged. Hundred-year-old trees lay fallen over electric lines, streets, houses, and cars, while the power plant was rendered impotent from a direct hit by a lightning bolt.
It was Monday. What an inauspicious way to begin a week.
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