I looked at the white caps and even though they were on the development’s small retention pond, they reminded me of a bigger body of water the day after the hurricane. I was twelve and the night before our metal garbage cans had blown down the street. The rain blew sideways, but my father had run out to retrieve them and my mother had told him to just let them go. The next morning I’d never seen the bay so miraculously bright but also dangerous and I imagined how my small boat and I would have fared on that water.
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