Almighty God, by your Word you laid the foundations of the earth, set the bounds of the sea, and still the wind and waves. Surround us with your grace and peace and preserve us through these named storms, Earl and Fiona. By your Spirit, lift up those who have fallen, strengthen those who work to rescue or rebuild, and fill us with the hope of your new creation; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen
--- The Book of Common Prayer, Anglican Church in North America, 2019
Good morning. This is Captain John Cook on British Airways 783.
We left Heathrow a little late last night
But have made up for lost time
Thanks to favorable winds
And we should land in Boston a half hour early.
We're currently an hour outside of Logan And we just started our initial descent.
We are over Labrador
Soon we'll cross Newfoundland, New Brunswick
Then down the Maine Coast.
Usually you would have a glorious view
Of these legendary provinces and shores
But today all we see are the swirling clouds of massive Fiona,
A monster hurricane
Tearing up the seas and fragile outposts
With her high winds and distraught waves.
So, settle back, enjoy your breakfast tea
Kindly complete your customs forms
And make early preparations to land.
God's Hands
Below, a billion year transection, like plastic clay
Slices of ocean bottoms smeared up against the primordial continent
Shoved under the existing mass, driven by global forces, creating volcanoes
Signs of early life - indeed, our future home -
Our good Fortune, Avalonia and Gandera.
Far away fantastical lands and oceans, rich in life
Tenuous inhabitants on tumultuous terrain of mountains built from sea floors
Folding and faulting, rising, sinking, marching across the latitudes
To the Equator andd back, To arid, sub-aerial to flooded, sub-aequeous
Creating across life from Sydney and St. John to Quebec City and Montreal
From Fundy, Yarmouth and Halifax to the lands of the Indigenous Peoples
A record of time and evolution that only the Divine could have made.
And as a last touch, done with Divine humor, continential and alpine ice as sculptor.
Deep fjords carved with God's digits, rocks polished and striated with His emery board
And post-glacial streams, now flooded and valleys now rebounded
Whose glory is evidenced by whales and maps. Who knew? Of course, He knew.
Under Fiona's Terror
Geomorphic forces reshape the land and sea even today. Humans shake in fear, clinging to survive.
The jet's contrails stretch from horizon to horizon, but the Maritimers know the storm's ravages.
The houses, little matchboxes really, are caught in terrible waves and are carried to the sea.
All is carried to the sea, where we find our origins and our terminus.
Maritimers know this, even in their skeletons.
Thin soils, craggy rocks, subsistence provide no choice but to look to the sea.
No easy plowing here. Barren.
They know their limits, their meager life, taught by the Mi'kmaq and all previous storms.
Oceans can be cruel teachers or placid lakes. Filled with terror or lulled by gentility.
We are here today, scratching, mending, shoveling, rowing, struggling.
And swept away tonight, in the dark, enveloping storm, gone tomorrow.
With no trace. Back to God's hands.
Our Final Approach
Ladies and gentlemen, this is your Captain again.
Please make your final preparations for landing.
The crew will come through the cabin now to collect any remaining service items.
Make sure your seats and tray tables are in their stowed and upright positions.
Fasten your seatbelts.
Welcome to Boston.
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