Day Fifty-Four: The Fury of the Storm

At last, the storm ceased under my prayers...

The moment I awoke today, I sprang up immediately. It seemed so quiet outside... Had the rain stopped? I hurriedly pushed open the door and rushed out—

A blinding shaft of sunlight forced my eyes shut, unable to bear the sudden brightness...

But I made it through, I survived. Though I gained nothing tangible, my heart was filled with joy.

On the trees, droplets still rolled and fell, pattering endlessly. I looked up at the great tree nearby; its leaves bore shimmering beads of water that, under the sunlight, tumbled earthward and refracted dazzling colors within their crystal clarity.

How beautiful!

Yet the broken branches on the tree were a stark reminder of the storm’s fury—so many twigs had fallen, even a thick bough had been torn away, the jagged wound terrifying. The power of that tempest was truly dreadful.

Only then did I remember the little wild boar and the potato sprouts...

I hurried over, and as I passed the small garden, the sight made my heart sink!

The soil looked as though it had been overturned, most of the transplanted wildflowers lay flattened, their roots exposed to the air.

They were lifeless, the storm had utterly destroyed my little garden.

But it doesn't matter; wildflowers are common. With some time, I can restore the garden—this is no real problem.

Moving on, I saw the collapsed pig pen...

Its roof was gone, and the structure had toppled into a heap.

Beneath the wreckage, something seemed to be trapped. Was it the little wild boar? Could it be that they hadn’t escaped fate and perished under the ruins?

Maybe so, but I wasn’t certain.

I doubted it—the pen’s weight shouldn’t have been enough to kill the boar under normal circumstances.

Finding out was simple: I just needed to clear the debris.

Soon, I had overturned the wreckage, bracing myself for the possibility of finding the boar’s body.

But when I fully cleared the heap, there was no sign of the little wild boar. It wasn’t until I glanced at the nearby "fence" that I discovered its tracks.

The "fence" had fallen; clearly the wild boar had escaped long ago. Where it had gone, I had no clue—the rain had washed away every footprint.

I shook my head, helpless.

Now I braced myself for the worst: the potato sprouts and seedlings from the drift-bottle seeds must have been knocked down as well.

Still, I wanted to see for myself. After all, I wouldn’t give up until the end; some hope lingered in my heart, wishing for a miracle.

“What? No way? Hahaha...” Yes, it was me laughing—not from despair, but because most of the seedlings had withstood the ravages of wind and rain!

Aside from a few whose roots were slightly exposed, the rest—though bent—stood strong.

There was some water pooled here, blocked by sand, stones, and branches clogging the drainage ditch. Of course, I wouldn’t ignore it; I squatted down and cleared the debris.

After draining the water, I gently covered the exposed roots with fresh soil.

Having finished all this, I breathed a sigh of relief—the outcome far exceeded my expectations, and I was content.

I thought today would be rainy, even without the storm. But it wasn’t.

I feared the yard would be destroyed, that my treehouse might not withstand it, but the result left me satisfied. These seedlings, symbols of hope, were bursting with new life, weren’t they?

The water in the treehouse’s barrel was running low. I needed to fetch more, but after such a storm, it would surely be muddy and would require settling before boiling for drinking. I didn’t want to waste time on that.

Instead, I decided to gather some coconuts and use them with what water remained to get by for a day or two. By then, the water should be clearer.

As I was about to leave, Little Black followed at once, clearly restless; it seemed he had waited for me for ages...

Soon, we reached the coconut grove by the shore. Many coconuts had fallen, some ripe, others still immature. As I picked and sorted, another coconut dropped, startling me—it was small, clearly undeveloped, and would have caused only a bump if it struck my head.

Of course, that was just idle speculation. I wouldn’t be so careless; I selected a few fresh, fully ripe coconuts and left the grove.

As I prepared to return, I heard the sound of the sea—much closer than before.

Wasn’t there a broad stretch of sand behind the coconut grove? Puzzled, I retraced my steps and soon realized the answer: the tide had flooded the entire beach, its edge reaching the coconut grove.

I looked around in astonishment; the distant rocks barely protruded above water, almost invisible unless you looked closely, and the place where I once dried salt was nowhere to be seen.

“What a terrifying storm,” I couldn’t help but sigh, turning to leave again.

But suddenly I halted, spun around, and returned to the shore.

I scrutinized the scene once more.

I drew a sharp breath—it was gone!

Yes, truly gone!

The rocks were bare; nothing remained.

The storm had swept it away!

Imagining the sea in the midst of that tempest—howling winds, torrential rain, and roaring waves—it must have been terrifying.

Indeed, the wrecked ship that once brought nightmares and rewards had vanished...

It had been driven ashore by a previous storm, but now the tempest had carried it away again...

I stood silently for a long time, gazing at the gentle, tranquil sea, my mind full of thoughts...

I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve planned to build a canoe; after getting an axe, the idea never left me, though my prudence restrained it.

Now, having witnessed the storm’s power, I once again question my desire...

Better to focus on survival first, and only then consider leaving.

The clouds above are so beautiful, but I’ve never seen a plane’s trail. Looking back, the plane I saw must have been a hallucination—otherwise, surely one would have appeared by now...

Perhaps rescue will never come...

Survive first...