Day 26: A storm?

We had a tantalizing taste of spring today, 80 degrees with brilliant blue skies streaked with wispy clouds. 

The sky is orange tonight, tinged with a neon purple like sizzling summer fireworks. It’s a full moon, but a cloud cover blindingly lit by lightning obscures it. 

Rumbling thunder is building, loping behind the lightning, but a storm will come. Eventually. 

I’m on the back deck, earbuds in, stretched across two deck chairs fresh out of winter storage. A candle flickers on the table beside me, its faint scent overpowered by the smell of the nearby storm that reminds me of a blown-out match smoldering black and glowing red. 

The light is strange. The white blossoms on neighbors’ apricot tree are fresh fallen snow lost in a muggy, summery evening. The lightning flashes are closer together now, angrier and urgent. And thunder nips at its heels.

I want to feel something: catharsis. I miss the determined desperation I felt in that first week of this quarantine, and I got used to all of this so quickly. 

The rain is here, and I wish I could cry. Crying feels so good, freeing. But I don’t have the tears. Not sad tears, not happy tears, not tears of rage or fear. I am rational, ready, pragmatic. I am the strong friend. 

Am I numb?

Don’t tease me, storm. I didn’t come all the way out here for 15 seconds of fat drops drumming on metal gutters. Frighten me. Blind me. Call me to dance without a care for my wet clothes and bare feet. Dare me to feel something.

Posted in
feather-pen

Other writing

Snowfall

October 26, 2020

From the moment I knocked my glasses off the night table as I tried and failed to start my day, my crabbiness seemed too stubborn to budge.

Read More

Day 134

July 26, 2020

My yoga pants are smeared with paint. Every bare inch of my skin is covered in flecks of the stuff. My cheeks are just pink with a dinner-hour sunburn that will fade by tomorrow night, and my belly is churning, full of ice cream I shouldn’t have eaten but wouldn’t have dared resist. On a…

Read More

Protected: Day 129: Baking and crying.

July 20, 2020

There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.

Read More

A funny idea of Independence.

July 4, 2020

I can just see the shimmer of pirate fireworks going off across Western Avenue through my office window; there are explosions in the distance from every direction.  Our festivities are long over for the day: We gathered to eat, drink, and sweat through our clothes with family  — responsibly distanced and all, of course. I…

Read More

Day 103: Joy in this normal.

June 24, 2020

It’s not yet 7 a.m., and the world is waking up beyond the sanctuary of my back deck. Birds start their morning chirping hellos at one another, cloistered and invisible among the leaves. Western Avenue hums. In spite of the drama during last week’s farmers market, I came home with an armload of tiny herbs…

Read More