When I peeked through the mini-blinds first thing this morning (first thing! ha!), I didn't know what I would see. Last night was so wild that I wasn't even sure the old oak would still be there, much less the more fragile things growing in the yard (that is, everything else).

The wind and rain were so loud last night that they drowned out the sound of the thunder. Diffused by the clouds, the lightning changed the black sky into a blinding gray-white. I could hear things blowing hard against my windows. If it was rain, it didn't sound like rain. It sounded like gravel.

When I opened the door to see the show, the screen bowed inward and the rain poured in on me. I could hear ominous cracks and crunches, as if branches were being torn from trunks. It sounded the way I imagine the end of the world will sound.

So as I gingerly parted the blinds early today, I winced. Then I squinted, because the sun was shining. Everything looked intact, very wet but all in one piece. Or as many pieces as it was supposed to be in. Not devastated, as I'd feared. It seems the plants that grow here are strong enough to withstand the weather we have here. Some kind of master plan, that.

On my errand run this morning, I was planning on going to a bookstore. I have a special reason to want to go to a bookstore, preferably this week. I even turned in the direction of the bookstore as I pulled away from the post office. Then I realized that the bookstore I was headed for is in an open-air shopping center with the worst parking lot in town. Every time I go there I regret it. I'm always glad to get out of there. So I came home instead of going to that bookstore. Tomorrow I'll go to another bookstore, unless I get halfway there and come up with a reason not to.