I suppose today there will be palm trees singing and willets dancing out at Cedar Key as Hurricane Gustave moves towards the wonderful state of Louisiana.
Florida has much in common with Louisiana ... ancient first American sites, a rich history of warring colonial European powers, vast wetlands, tremendous wildlife, miles of coastline, wonderfully diverse cultures, a zest for spice in food and music, alligators, ... the list goes on and on.
It's as if you took a short, squat Florida and jammed it in between Mississippi and Texas, only with Francais in the south instead of Espanol.
I like Louisiana. The few times I've been there, it felt like home.
It's odd here today, sitting on a long , low, skinny peninsula while two powerful tropical systems swirl by on either side.
We are in the squeeze, protected for now by a bit of high pressure air.
The radar confirms that the gentle breeze rustling the Spanish moss outside my writing room window is a gift of the outermost edges of Gustave ... the same storm that has taken many lives and will take more before fading.
Odd, these hurricanes.
No other natural disaster gives such a long early warning or delivers such a punch. I'm really not talking about the aftermath, but the event itself.
Floods ... some warning, brief event, long aftermath.
Tornadoes ... brief warning, then over in a flash.
Earthquakes ... ditto.
Tsunamis ... ditto.
Natural forest fires ... they don't even belong in this list since we can actually affect their progress.
This time, I think New Orleans will be as ready as a city built below sea level can be.
I still think it's going to flood, but at least it should be essentially empty ... like Mayor Nagin's cranium.
Good job Governor Jindal!
I'll be out today, poking around with my camera, thinking about some high school friends who live in Shreveport and Mississippi, ... hoping they remain safe while ...
... I enjoy a gentle breeze off the Gulf.