The summer had been quiet, quaint, sun-drenched, and delightful. But the clouds on the horizon bring with them ferocious winds that howls between the dunes, shake flagpoles, and whip sand with such force it makes you back away.

This is a storm that only happens once in a lifetime.

Fisherman know it is time to turn around - as boats begin pouring into the harbors and docks, being tied down as best they can.

Shops on the coast boarded their windows. Vacationers quickly left the scene, not wanting to be responsible for the damage caused by the storm. Even some year round residents quietly packed their cars and drove inland.

This was going to be a glorious storm. The kind where you couldn't really do anything but witness in awe - standing at the sliding glass door, watching the wall of black approach.

The sun is completely blotted out, but the lightning illuminates the sky, bright enough to burn your eyes. You jump every time the thunder rumbles, even though you know it is coming. You don't need to count after the lightning strike - you know where the storm is. Right over head. The roof of your house knows too, but is fooled just like you are, jumping and shuddering at every thunder clap.

Water pours down the windows in sheets. It's not like it's raining out, but like the windows are under water with a swift current passing over them. The rain pummels the roof. You don't hear droplets - it just sounds like your radio is turned on, full blast to nothing but static. It isn't annoying, it isn't numbing - it's hypnotizing.

The red dirt is seeping from the ground, unable to absorb anymore water. The tide is rising quickly, encroaching onto the beach.

You look to the street but you aren't quiet sure why. The town is dead. You know it is. No one is out - no cars pass by, not lights are on anywhere else. You know where everyone is - waiting, watching, feeling the storm as you are.

You can taste the ozone. It's pouring down outside - on the other side of your walls and windows, yet it seeps into every crack in your house, finally finding and invading your nose. You get drunk off it's thick, dank aroma.

It just won't end, as you stand at the window, attracted like a moth to a flame. You watch as the water continues to rise. You feel the house continue to shake. The air is becoming colder by the moment, raising the hairs on your body.

Nothing feels certain at this moment. You feel tiny. A speck. Insignificant to the elements obliterating the shoreline outside your house.

Yet at this very moment, you feel the safest you have ever been.