© Beth Surdut 2005 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Less than two weeks after I arrived in weather-challenged Florida, I sat out in someone’s backyard listening to poets and songwriters spill out their frustration at Hurricane Charlie’s wild trip. By the third poem of fear and homelessness, I asked the group if I should turn tail and run. “No, we figure in a year you’ll be living down here with us, and we’ll tell you when to run like hell.”