As Hurricane Sandy made landfall near Atlantic City, NJ, this Monday evening, Atlanta was eerily quiet, blanketed under a waxing gibbous moon. I shivered as I stepped out my front door to create this image. The air was crisp and the temperature, unseasonably cold. Yet, it wasn’t so much the chill of the night that ran through to my bones but the circumstances of this strange day. In our small community of Decatur, we heard the sad news that one of our beloved middle school teachers had passed away suddenly. She was young, vibrant and cherished by the students and faculty. She had taken my son under her wing last year when he was having a difficult time adjusting to our move from Florida. My husband is stranded in Boston after his two flights back home had been cancelled. He had flown up to deliver a talk at Harvard this morning but did not have the opportunity to do so since the university shut down. Lastly, as I am writing this entry in the deceptive calm, as captured out my front door, millions of people up north are fretting about what awaits them in the morning, in the wake of this monstrous storm.