almost a near miss

Two years ago, I sat in the Houston airport on a layover following my first visit to Portland. At 6 a.m., the airport was quiet, lonely. The sole open newsstand was selling early editions: newspapers expressing cautious relief that Katrina’s worst had missed New Orleans.

CNN flashed overhead, dulled by the white noise of the vacuum cleaners. At this early hour, all they could offer but speculation and radar.

Meanwhile, New Orleans began to fall apart.

But for a moment in the airport -- before the world knew the levees had breached and the city was drowning -- it was calm.