Hurricane Harvey is  not over yet. It  made landfall on Friday night, and almost no one cared.

We had rain. Big deal. Then more rain on Saturday as the storm sat, almost stationary. Harvey lost power and was demoted to a tropical storm.

We went out to dinner, noting the water was over the seawall in some parts of our waterfront neighborhood south of Houston, north of Galveston. Then we had more rain.

Overnight, a weakened Harvey meandered a mile this way and that, pulling moisture from the gulf, dumping it in our laps and homes.

My sister texted at 6:45 a.m. Sunday. Water in their house and rising. They salvaged what they could and took the dogs upstairs to wait.

It kept raining. Water crept toward our home. All we could do was watch.

Again, my sister called. The water was 15 inches high. They turned off the electricity to avoid fires and electrocution. Her 2015 Corvette, electric blue with chrome rims, floated aimlessly in the garage alongside her daily driver, a Nissan Maxima. Their Chevy Tahoe sat in the driveway, with water up to the wheel wells.

The nursing home full of elderly sitting in three feet of water in their wheelchairs is five miles away. Neighbors are helping neighbors. City officials and emergency responders are asking anyone with a boat or tall vehicle to please help. It’s Texas. We have a lot of those vehicles. And they all want to help.

By Monday morning, all 22 drainage ways in the Greater Houston area, from ditches to rivers, were reported at or over flood stage. We expect them to crest at 500-year, or even 1,000-year, flood levels.

Some of that flood water will pass by my neighborhood. Combined with the continued rain, it might get in my house. It might not. All I can do is wait.

Which gives me time to think.

As the rain pours outside and rescue efforts fill the television screen, I see the days and weeks to come. There will be heartbreak and heroics. And then there will be the long effort to restore what was lost.