City at Night

From what I can see, Baton Rouge is a city without light.

Out on the avenue, nothing is visible outside the beams of my headlights. I turn them off for a second, but only for a second. The effect is unsettling. More weightlessness than sightlessness.

This house has a generator running. That store. Then nothing.

At the intersection, a pickup truck has its high beams on. Then nothing. Mayor Holden imposed a curfew from dusk until dawn. If the police stop me, I hope they will accept my explanation that I am on my way home from work.

I drive carefully around the downed tree limbs that drift into view and then fade immediately back into the darkness.

A few hours ago, I entertained the hope that maybe my lights would be back on by the time I got home. I realize now how silly that was. There are 1.5 million homes without power in Louisiana tonight. It would take nothing less than a miracle to put me at the top of that list.

After Katrina, my neighborhood was without light or air for five days. I hope Gustav isn't trying to top her.


I am about to go to bed and try to sleep in a house where I can barely breathe. It's going to be a long night.