We  waited and watched.

In Park Slope power outages and flooding never came (though the Gowanus overflowed just blocks away). But on the television we watched as Con Edision transformers exploded, Manhattan went dark below 34th Street; fires raged in Queens; and water flooded subways and tunnels.

We waited and watched as trees flailed violently outside our Park Slope windows and images from lower Manhattan painted a portrait of life after wartime. A flooded metropolis astounded us. Catastrophic was a word that was bandied about. A back up generator at NYU failed and patients were shown being transferred to other hospitals. On Twitter, incredible images of a submerged FDR Drive, a soaked Penn Station, a dark Tribeca, a flooded  Stuyvesant Town in the East Village.

At 4AM Tuesday morning, my city is in ruins. A million are without power, the subways are stilled, stations soaked. The streets are canals, fires rages and forecasters discuss a bizarre convergence of weather systems that left unseen NYC destruction in its wake.

I wait and watch for the sunrise when my resilient city begins its slow recovery from this destruction.