Hurricane Pedro Smith finally hit my coast around about, 7:35 today. He was a Category 10, perfectly round and the right girth for me. I felt like I could take it. He was wild and unpredictable. I didn’t know I was unprepared. Forecasters projected a different path, told me to evacuate before he hit at 5, but he stalled for awhile, a little ways away from my fragile coastline. I let my guard down…thought that was a sign, he wouldn’t be coming this way anytime soon. He wavered, teased me. Made me get a loaf of bread that I didn’t think I’d really need. I braced for impact. Then grew restless and took a break. And when he finally headed my way and I witnessed all the turmoil, the destruction he brought, it was too late for me to pack my shit and leave. He made landfall and I suffered every beating and bang-up job I would have to undo later. He came through me. Knocked me off my foundation. Turned my world upside down and made me clean up after him. And just like that, he was gone, back out to sea. Searching for new landfall and vulnerable coastlines. Nothing looked in anyway like the way it did before he came. Before he became my hurricane.