Our Last View of Florida was 9 Months Ago. When All Was Well.
The Tiny Mermaid House We Left Behind Now Sits in the Eye of Irma.
Dear Mermaid House, Please Stay Safe. Stay Protected. Stay Strong.
Our Friends in the Area have Evacuated and Are Safe.
We Are Safe. Sitting 2000 Miles Away.
But the Mermaid House is Left Behind. Exposed.
Storm Precautions were Done. But Is It Enough?
The Water is Turned Off. The Patio Furniture is Inside. The garden sheds are built with sturdy material so I don’t have to worry about those.
But Storm Shutters to Protect the Windows are Not On.
Pool Water Remains Lapping at the Pool Edge.
All We Can Do Now is Watch Endless Hours of the Weather Channel.
We Have Many Questions. But Few Answers.
Will the Front Yard Tree Remain Standing?
Can the Mermaid Keep High Winds At Bay?
The Tiny House Waits in Silence.
Silly Framed Flip Flops Wait. Surfboard Table Listens and Hears Nothing.
The Girls in the Pool Painting and Framed Bathing Suits Wait.
Just Outside the Door is the Pool.
Will the Pool Water Lap Up Against the Sliding Doors?
How Much Rain is Too Much Rain?
The Master Without its Masters Listens Too.
Coastal Blues and White.
Will the Storm Surge Reach Us?
No Answers Yet.
Mermaid Tail at the Ready in the Girls; Room. Shore Birds on Borders. Waiting.
Plump Cupcake Pillow.
Friends to Cuddle.
Beach Buddies for Cruising.
Pelican with a Fresh Catch. All Wait.
Sparkly Kitchen. Heart of the Tiny House.
Live Edge Breakfast Bar. Handcrafted in Colorado. Stands Quietly at Attention.
At This Moment, All is Silent. No Howling Wind. No Rattling Windows.
Even the Tea Pot Waits. And Wonders.
Baths. Now Quiet as a Whisper.
Fluffy White Towels. Still Warm and Dry.
But All Eerily Quiet.
Our Beloved Beach Braces for Storm Surges and High Winds.
Hopefully the Sea Gulls Know Where to Find Safety.
Stay Safe Beach.
We Hold Our Breaths and Wait with You.