Postcards from South Florida

While she lived in Miami, my Texan-born mother never tired of decrying the city’s wickedness and prophesying its doom at the Hands of God. So she’d feel scarily vindicated by the note I just received from writer Geoffrey Philp, who says it “looks like a series of small bombs have been detonated all over the city.” Fences, trees, and billboards are shredded, he reports. Most of the city’s banyans were “toppled, their roots in the air,” and the live oaks left “splintered, their limbs snapped.”

On the day after the hurricane, Philp reports:

I went outside to talk with my neighbor and down at our feet was a page that had been ripped out of the Bible, either by human or divine hands (does it really matter) from Revelation Chapter 18 through Chapter 19 verse six. I have it preserved in plastic at home.

In less Biblically-tinged South Florida news, my old friend Andy, who hails from West Palm Beach, says his parents are okay, but his hometown is a mess, and he keeps finding photos online “that relate to somewhere I lived or worked.”

On the Palm Beach Post website there is a picture of a white Jeep Liberty crushed by debris on Clematis Street. The debris is the roof of my old office building. On the Sun Sentinal site there is a photo of yachts being pushed into a lake taken from a building I used to live in.

Kevin took a walk around his Miami neighborhood — where “there is quite a bit of damage, although nothing terrifying,” and roofers will be doing a booming business for the next few months” — shortly after the storm passed.


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