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Rainy night in Georgia
Last night I was sitting in the bedroom rocking chair, reading Acatl and listening to the plonk plonk of raindrops on the window AC unit. It was very peaceful: May rain from calm grey skies, an old comforting topos that's oddly the same everywhere I go. (A night in Gion twenty-five years ago: how much it rained on that first trip to Japan.) I thought of my cherry and plum trees all ghost-white out the study window, brown bark gone black in the wet, and felt content.
Tonight I came out of the super up the street to an apocalyptic whorled and mud-coloured sky suddenly blown in from the west: gusty, threatening, far too close to a tornado skyscape for comfort. (We do get tornadoes here, though not often downtown.) The expected cloudburst didn't happen-- clouds moving too fast, in the event-- but it's been an uneasy wet evening, lightning flashing even in a half-clear sky, and pressure adding to the misery of flowering-time allergies. (Truly, I can never again think of 'phlegmatic' as a good thing to be.)
Hot bath, I think, even in the smelly mug, and hot beanbags in bed.
Tonight I came out of the super up the street to an apocalyptic whorled and mud-coloured sky suddenly blown in from the west: gusty, threatening, far too close to a tornado skyscape for comfort. (We do get tornadoes here, though not often downtown.) The expected cloudburst didn't happen-- clouds moving too fast, in the event-- but it's been an uneasy wet evening, lightning flashing even in a half-clear sky, and pressure adding to the misery of flowering-time allergies. (Truly, I can never again think of 'phlegmatic' as a good thing to be.)
Hot bath, I think, even in the smelly mug, and hot beanbags in bed.