Three more days of hard, unrelenting work pass before I am able to visit Billie.
Miraculously, or maybe not, the grove remains undamaged from the storm. Around it, trees lay felled in clumps. The land is still flooded in places, but the gentle knoll, atop which lies Billie’s fire ring and circle of mature mangrove trees, stands undisturbed, a picture of calm in a sea of bedlam.
Likewise, Billie’s small concrete house, his chickee, and even his bicycle survived the tempest. The latter