The Light that Filters Through

Before, in the silence of day, I notice the stillness of the sun, the lingering heat, the stagnant calm that stifles, stretching minutes into hours. So— we cook, we clean, we prepare, we keep our bodies working and our minds filled, play music both loud and soft, bustle with purpose, then stop for air— and we wait.

Night falls. We hold our breath against the lash of the wind, now an angry dance against the windowpanes. A cacophony of rain, hard and fast, pelts down in thick, unruly sheets, relentless. We sit with our thoughts together, the flame of a single candle between us. I knead my fingers and press them to my forehead, feeling every tired bone, every tensed muscle. We think: Did we make the right choice? Then: It’s too late now. 

We blow out the candle; darkness falls heavy around us. Fix makeshift beds for the kids beside our own, place an army of pillows and blankets and my son’s favorite giant stuffed bear on the mattress. We settle in, closing our eyes and shielding our ears against the creak of the roof, the whip of the wind, the thrash of tree branches, the whistling pitch of the gale. We remain silent though our thoughts continue to whirl, stomachs trembling as terror spins through our hearts, fear breaking us open with the threatening typhoon. 

The battering force of the tempest is constant, its power and sway unabated through the night. 

We sleep, fitfully and full of troubled dreams. But at least this is a kind of rest — at least we have each other. This is the thought we hold on to in the dark hours of the storm, this is the only thing left as our minds fade into murky shadows of slumber. 

Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me
I once was lost, but now am found
Was blind but now I see

After, we wake to cities of wreckage, citizens displaced, communities devastated. Some have lost family members, friends, their homes, their livelihoods. Water, gas, food and supplies are precious and little. There is looting. Shots fired. But still, we rise and are quick to salvage, help, comfort, give. We want to rebuild. We reach for recovery. 

Each day a struggle, each day a little better than the last. Slowly supplies come, shelters are made, water is restored, debris is gathered and picked up, linemen labor tirelessly to bring the street-lamps back on. Soon, businesses that remain re-open their doors, parents return to work, kids return to school. 

Slowly, we repair our lives, restore our wearied souls, mend our broken hearts in this place we call home. 

Was Grace that taught my heart to fear
And Grace, my fears relieved
How precious did that Grace appear
The hour I first believed

After, in the silence of the day, I notice the stillness of the sun, the lingering heat, the stagnant calm that stifles, stretching minutes into hours. So — we praise the sky for its quiet blue, we pause beside the tranquil lake, we play our music both loud and soft, we cook our meals and share them, we cry and we laugh — we thank the light that filters through. 

We ask: What saved us? But the answer does not come on a gentle breeze. We lay down in the evening, eyes pressed open. 

We wonder: What matters? Swift and low the answer comes, rushing with the impact of a cyclone: Love — Only Love. 

Through many dangers, toils and snares
We have already come
T'was Grace that brought us safe thus far
And Grace will lead us home
And Grace will lead us home

Copyright Stacie Eirich September 9, 2021 

*Written as a reflective prose-poem after experiencing Category 4 Hurricane Ida, which made landfall in Louisiana on August 29th, 2021.

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Writing-In-Progress: For now, my novels are on hold and I’m just focusing on getting down whatever comes, whether it’s verses or short prose. I do have a small bit of exciting publishing news! In the upcoming Auroras & Blossoms PoArtMo Anthology (Volume 2), I’ll have a poem. I’ll also be appearing as a featured artist on the PoArtMo podcast in an interview with editors Cendrine Marrouat and David Ellis. 

https://abpositiveart.com/2021/08/16/poartmo-anthology-volume-2-cover-reveal/

Singing-In-Progress: I’m currently rehearsing Strauss’s The Four Last Songs with SIC: The Choir of the Earth & soprano Lucy Cox, and will begin rehearsals for The Stay at Home Choir’s next project with The Swingles, a new original song titled “Home,” next week. 

https://choiroftheearth.com/four-last-songs

https://new.stayathomechoir.com/projects/the-swingles-home

To all who have taken time out of their day to visit my blog and support my artistic endeavors, Thank You.  

And to those who are the helpers, the givers, the care-takers, the encouragers and light-bringers — Bless You, for you make this world rich with beauty, with kindness, and with love. 

Be safe & well, and keep looking for the light that filters through. 💖✍️🎼 -Stacie