Not many more of these , I promise. Soon I’ll get back to the writing on writing. But a visual update is in order. Major thunderstorm here last night. Dramatic. Loud. Distant clouds that looked like a Rothko painting, blue and black. Close-in lightning.
Then, a telltale sound, distinctive even in a modern highrise: hail. It pinged. It thudded. It splashed in the pool seven floors below. It shone white, illuminated in the car headlights on the street. Even the cats noticed, although not for long….
The farther a viewer is from the ground, the harder it is to see rain. Seeing it, feeling it, is something I miss. Not last night.
And in the morning, the mountains that towered over the distant horizon under a pale blue sky were not mountains at all: They were clouds; the back end of the retreating storm. I’ll have furniture soon. I’ll have a life soon. I will corral the wandering attention long enough to miss what I’ve left behind. For now, being relatively housebound gives me the same burgeoning sense of security calms me as it does the cats. Next comes the return of the writing. When life comes back.