Tonight there is forecast a wind storm. It should sweep through the trees with gusts up to sixty miles an hour, and there is a danger of flood. A child I know, when she was four years old, used to be scared of the sound of wind, and no one could convince her otherwise. In retrospect , it was a reasonable fear, as the noise is spooky, loud, and the gusts are unpredictable. My cat Izzie runs for cover when the wind sweeps through our drafty apartment. The worst of wind is a tornado, or cyclone, and as a child living in Saint Louis, I feared it. We used to practice bomb drills at our desks, placing our heads down on our crossed arms. We would have done better under the desks. The possibility of seeing the ominous sign of a twister was enough to shock me.

It is the next day, which translates as today. The rain pours in gusts, then gets quiet. The early morning DJ has made it to our community radio station to broadcast live, so it means the roads are passable. I see a plastic pot has been flung inti the woods by the eind, and I will retrieve it later. The power is still on.

Death visited over Thanksgiving and took my sister in law’s mother away. My sister in law’s tears fell on my shoulders as I held her in her grief. Death was expected but still a surprise, and the timing uncanny.

We always gather at my brother’s for Thanksgiving, all us cousins and aunties and uncles, at a crowded table filled with an assortment of pies made the day before, plus those special items pulled especially for the holiday: blueberry cheese; panettone; sometimes biryani. Last year, we toted the feast to the in-laws to make it easier. This year, Death arrived on Wednesday morning; the cremation was quickly planned for Friday.

We split the family into those who were staying at my brother’s in-laws home, and those who remained at his house. My niece went back and forth. Staying behind were my mom, my auntie, my cousin, my twelve-year old cousin-nephew,and me.

Left to our own devices, we watched films on tv and ordered pizza. We watched Dear Zindagi (2016), Episode 4 of Ms Marvel ( 2022), and my favorite all time favorite ( seriously, the opening chords of the trailer makes my heart beat a bit faster) Hindi film, Veer Zaara (2004). All of the films had a feminist gaze, though filled with romantic tropes and heteronormative infrastructure. In short, a representation of the Thanksgiving holiday: a clash of cultures, a spread of food, and love.

We gathered for a feast after the Hindu service Friday at the in-law’s, where the house crowded with family and friends. The noise and crowd helped move the grief, providing distraction. We ate without thinking, drank chai, and caught up between hugs and tears.

An Uber driver, a woman from Hyderabad, in head scarf, took us home that night. My mom and aunt were impressed that we had a Muslim female driver. To tell the truth, so was I. She gave me her recipe for Hyderabadi biryani. Next year, I will make it for Thanksgiving.

Yesterday’s moon bloomed full and silver in the sky. It kept playing hide and seek as I fished for it in the clouds.

I teach a small group writing workshop in early December, and hope to entice a few to share their work, and empty their pockets of poems and notes.