Block · one region of the page, as the scanner read it. It may hold a whole story, part of one, several, or an advertisement; stitching blocks into articles is the next step. Text is supplied OCR.
Page 7 · column 1 of 7 · from the scan, no model involved
At 10 a.m. on Friday morning, September 6, rain is driving with such force at the south facing window of my little writing room that I see only a green blur. Lights just flickered and the green letters on my word processor screen blurred, pulled away and then returned to normal. How long will it be until power is gone? Hurricane Fran is reminding me that us mortals are mighty small when viewed against the mightiness of nature on the rampage.
Readers will remember that the wind came in gusts, driving rain before it. Then there was an eerie lull when the world seemed to wait for the next furious attack of the storm. The lights flickered again. The pearl-grey sky looks both luminous and ominous with light filtered through the rain. Abruptly a gust of wind causes the great ash tree in the neighbor's yard to thrash about as if in an agony of pain and sorrow.
I've been up since first light. With a mug of coffee I went to the front porch to be close to the storm. My courage was limited and I stayed on the porch. The yard was littered with leaves, twigs and branches. I remind myself that, along with ice storms, this is nature’s way of prunning trees. Highway 522 is escorted down the hill by plunging water on both sides. This house sits high of the ground; there are no close streams. Are we far enough
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