I shouldn’t but I love the dark and the rain. Clatter clatter.
I like curling into a ball or wrapping up warm, safe in my confined space, alone in my thoughts, snuggled up aware only of the rhythm of the water hitting the roof, bouncing off the windows and the howl of the wind. I love the howling best, like a beast prowling around outside, mysterious and haunting. Like a space occupied by an unidentifiable, indefinable volatile presence. A presence that gives me permission to stay within.
Sunshine bares down on you like a searchlight. It glares white rayes at you, says expose yourself, it’s furrowed brow questions, points a finger and laughs. It asks what have you done these past few glorious days and you have to respond with something joyous or you are categorised as strange. Such pressure makes me anxious.
Storms are like theatre, grand stories of life and death. Heroic Greek mythologies with monsters, great voyages and crashing seas. An orchestra at full pelt conductors arms flailing around and face contorted. Thats what wild weather brings, powerful, pulsating, magical drama.
And if you must go out then all the better, lean your shoulder into the gale, soak yourself to the skin. Rejoice in the cold drowning cleansing saturation because before long you will be inside again and its warmth and relative safety amidst the wild grand landscape beyond will be so much more soothing and safe again.
I like curling into a ball or wrapping up warm, safe in my confined space, alone in my thoughts, snuggled up aware only of the rhythm of the water hitting the roof, bouncing off the windows and the howl of the wind. I love the howling best, like a beast prowling around outside, mysterious and haunting. Like a space occupied by an unidentifiable, indefinable volatile presence. A presence that gives me permission to stay within.
Sunshine bares down on you like a searchlight. It glares white rayes at you, says expose yourself, it’s furrowed brow questions, points a finger and laughs. It asks what have you done these past few glorious days and you have to respond with something joyous or you are categorised as strange. Such pressure makes me anxious.
Storms are like theatre, grand stories of life and death. Heroic Greek mythologies with monsters, great voyages and crashing seas. An orchestra at full pelt conductors arms flailing around and face contorted. Thats what wild weather brings, powerful, pulsating, magical drama.
And if you must go out then all the better, lean your shoulder into the gale, soak yourself to the skin. Rejoice in the cold drowning cleansing saturation because before long you will be inside again and its warmth and relative safety amidst the wild grand landscape beyond will be so much more soothing and safe again.
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