(no subject)
It feels like Spring out, in the way that only a Midwest Spring feels.
It's a false Spring, but feels like it nonetheless. It reminds me there are good things about being here, and a Spring Storm is one of them.
The storms here get under your skin. I could feel the stillness in my apartment all night long. It made for a restless night. Outside though, it felt quite alive. The wind isn't strong or gusting, but it takes over your entire body. You feel it wrap around you. It consumes all of your body, like the humidity in New Orleans always does to me. Where the humidity makes you want to curl up in a haze of smog, beer, and smoke, the wind makes you wake up.
When I was little, I used to call days like this the witching hour. There's magic in the air, electricity. In Groton, in Gulfport, or in Gaithersburg, they didn't happen often. So I'd look up at the sky, know that mischief was in the air, and hurry inside.
Now that I'm older, I'm not so afraid of it. The skies are dark, heavy with clouds fat on rain drops and wind highs, with cracks of light bursting through. I love it when the rain drops are big and fat, plopping down on my head and skin like small water balloons.
I didn't want to come in to work this morning; I still don't want to be at work. I wish I had had an hour, to put on a scarf and cardigan and walk around outside.
The day is going on, the weather is changing, and I'll be a bit sad if I missed that moment.
It's a false Spring, but feels like it nonetheless. It reminds me there are good things about being here, and a Spring Storm is one of them.
The storms here get under your skin. I could feel the stillness in my apartment all night long. It made for a restless night. Outside though, it felt quite alive. The wind isn't strong or gusting, but it takes over your entire body. You feel it wrap around you. It consumes all of your body, like the humidity in New Orleans always does to me. Where the humidity makes you want to curl up in a haze of smog, beer, and smoke, the wind makes you wake up.
When I was little, I used to call days like this the witching hour. There's magic in the air, electricity. In Groton, in Gulfport, or in Gaithersburg, they didn't happen often. So I'd look up at the sky, know that mischief was in the air, and hurry inside.
Now that I'm older, I'm not so afraid of it. The skies are dark, heavy with clouds fat on rain drops and wind highs, with cracks of light bursting through. I love it when the rain drops are big and fat, plopping down on my head and skin like small water balloons.
I didn't want to come in to work this morning; I still don't want to be at work. I wish I had had an hour, to put on a scarf and cardigan and walk around outside.
The day is going on, the weather is changing, and I'll be a bit sad if I missed that moment.