What's the point in having a sky if it isn't to hold all the stars at night, to shed light during the day and pour down a little rain every now and then?
...
I remember once, when I was six, a hurricane blew through Long Island. That was definitely not an every day occurance up there. At the time, it was just my mom, my sister and I living in the house on Newton Ave. I remember being so excited. I'd never seen a hurricane before. I didn't even really know what one was. All I knew was that it was windy and raining all day long. Late in the afternoon the winds picked up and battered the house. The power was out. We were staying huddled in the dining room, one of the only rooms without windows. It sounded like the coming of the apocolypse. At one point everything seemed to get louder. A door that was left open upstairs Slammed shut. Another flew open. We ran upstairs to find that the windows in one of the bedroom had lifted themselves open. We decided that the house had better judgement in such things than we did, so we threw some towels on the floor in front of the now-open windows and ran back downstairs.
And then came the silence.
The eye of the storm.
My mom told me it would happen... that there would be an eerie calm... and then the madness would begin again. I didn't understand. How could there be a quiet at the heart of such terror. And then it came. Silence. Even the sun came out as if to taunt us with what a beautiful day it could have been.
I'm not sure how we convinced her to do it, but during the eye my mom let us open the front door and stand on the porch. The neighborhood was still there. No houses blown away. No trees lifted from the ground and strewn across lawns. Even though it sounded as if an army marched through our front lawn, the grass was wet but not trampled. And then my mom ushered us back into the house, back to safety.
For the second time that day, it seemed like the big bad wolf was outside our door trying to blow, blow, blow our house down. Huddled with my family around a kerosene heater and a battery opperated radio, I curled up in a blanket and fell asleep as freight train after freight train roared down the street.
I woke up the next morning in my bed, tucked in like it was any other morning. I threw on some clothes and my socks and shoes and ran downstairs and out the front door.
Something was wrong. I new it immediately, but couldn't quite place what it was. And then it hit me. The house across the street was gone. Well, not gone, exactly, but hidden. Apparently the ivy that covered ever inch of the house blew off, but stayed intact. It was ripped away from the house and was standing as a giant wall in the middle of their front lawn. It was pretty cool. Shortly after I walked out, I could hear the sound of the chainsaw as someone from inside that wall of ivy decided that would be the most satisfying way to get out. The only other damage from the storm was to a garage down the street. An oak tree, apparently, couldn't quite withstand the winds long enough and toppled down during the night and felt a garage would be the best place to land. Better the garage than the house.
....
So... what made me write about a hurricane when I was 6? Well, I don't know, really, but now that I'm done, I guess I'll say that the point of the story is this:

Sometimes life will decide to blow your whole world away, but we are strong. And we have chainsaws to hack through the ivy that might stand in our way of recovery. Chainsaws are kinda badass like that. Be that chainsaw. Rawr.