A little something I just wrote..
I’ve been hearing the wind from inside my little orange rooms all night, blowing the bushes against my house here in the darkness of my neighborhood, pinning the tops of the palm trees gently, but forcefully to one side. I imagine that they look like a lady blowing one side of her head with a hair-dryer. She will start on the opposite side presently and work her way ‘round to the front.
I think I am getting the flue, and I’ve been longing for over a quarter of an hour to be outside in the shattering peace, where the storm is just beginning. I imagine that my storm is just beginning too, that by the morning I will wake up and my nose will be running and my head will be thick with a sickening cold. Outside, the rain will be letting up for a few minutes and I’ll feel very strongly like not going to work.
But right now, the peace is just barely starting to crack and I want more than anything to be outside in the dark. I put on my pajamas and open my door cautiously, sensing the hum of eminent danger outside. A danger I cannot put my finger exactly upon, but that I know exists and is close. Everything that is close to me right now is all there is. I feel the world pulling back over the mountains, and I think I can hear the collective cars of Tucson shifting into reverse and receding like an army told to retreat, their headlights bobbing backwards into the night. I feel like there is a threat to us all, and the city was told to evacuate but I never got the message. Maybe I will indulge myself in that belief for a moment or two.
Over the din of the buffeting winds made ever more loud and hissing by my possibly flue distorted eardrums I can hear a scraping sound as of a piece of paper flitting lightly over the pavement, carried by the wind and easily brushing the ground. It is on wings somewhere, but I cannot see it. The sound of it stands out against the soft, heavy wind like a sharp knife cutting powerfully through a satin sheet and I wonder strangely when I might catch a glimpse of it. I stand eagerly at the end of my sidewalk, the picket fence gate open wide. I am allowing the cats of the neighborhood to slip in behind me while I watch for the object somewhere in the street. Slowly, I shuffle my slippers into the road and, sensing that unseen danger more than before, peer around a parked car with caution.
What I see is nothing less or more than I expected, but is somehow wonderful all the same. I move with a sense of fulfillment back towards my yard. After all, I have bills to pay and cats to chase from my yard.
I think I am getting the flue, and I’ve been longing for over a quarter of an hour to be outside in the shattering peace, where the storm is just beginning. I imagine that my storm is just beginning too, that by the morning I will wake up and my nose will be running and my head will be thick with a sickening cold. Outside, the rain will be letting up for a few minutes and I’ll feel very strongly like not going to work.
But right now, the peace is just barely starting to crack and I want more than anything to be outside in the dark. I put on my pajamas and open my door cautiously, sensing the hum of eminent danger outside. A danger I cannot put my finger exactly upon, but that I know exists and is close. Everything that is close to me right now is all there is. I feel the world pulling back over the mountains, and I think I can hear the collective cars of Tucson shifting into reverse and receding like an army told to retreat, their headlights bobbing backwards into the night. I feel like there is a threat to us all, and the city was told to evacuate but I never got the message. Maybe I will indulge myself in that belief for a moment or two.
Over the din of the buffeting winds made ever more loud and hissing by my possibly flue distorted eardrums I can hear a scraping sound as of a piece of paper flitting lightly over the pavement, carried by the wind and easily brushing the ground. It is on wings somewhere, but I cannot see it. The sound of it stands out against the soft, heavy wind like a sharp knife cutting powerfully through a satin sheet and I wonder strangely when I might catch a glimpse of it. I stand eagerly at the end of my sidewalk, the picket fence gate open wide. I am allowing the cats of the neighborhood to slip in behind me while I watch for the object somewhere in the street. Slowly, I shuffle my slippers into the road and, sensing that unseen danger more than before, peer around a parked car with caution.
What I see is nothing less or more than I expected, but is somehow wonderful all the same. I move with a sense of fulfillment back towards my yard. After all, I have bills to pay and cats to chase from my yard.