storms 

I am out on my patio.

There is rain.

A breeze is blowing in, sheets of rain flowing with the wind.

I'm wearing my robe, sitting on my patio chair, my legs are poking out, sometimes the breeze carries sprinkles to me.

The gray sky is turning pink.

There are drops on my phone screen, just a few, not getting in the way of letting my words flow.

I'm going to get wet but I love it.

That clean, cool air. The wind swirling.

It's late. It'll be midnight soon.

storms 

There's a bright flash nearby. The rain is picking up. The ground is being scrubbed methodically by blown waves of rain.

Thunder.

I am alone, I'm not alone, the storm is with me. It's beautiful.

My legs are wet now. More wind.

I wonder how wet the shoes I threw on before I came outside are.

The flashes are getting closer. This is exciting.

How many times have I gone in for this? How many times have I run?

I went in. But I left the screen open and I'm watching from inside.

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storms 

Standing immediately behind the screen. I can feel the wind. It's strong. It's not wet, it's clean, cool, and powerful.

Well.

It's just a little wet, I suppose.

Breathing, the wind entering me, filling my lungs, standing there with my mouth open.

There's a little bit of a feeling here… well. A lady never tells.

I am glad I am awake for this. I am glad I have space, my space, for this.

My phone can't even begin to capture this.

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storms 

How many times have I run away?

How many times have I stopped to behold?

Stopped to be alive?

There is a single bright beacon, a light, mounted on the building next to mine. It floods out my camera, it reflects on the wet sidewalk through the sheets of rain.

And it in turn is flooded out by more bright flashes.

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storms 

The first time I experienced a storm here, it tripped the fire alarm and we all stood in the hall, shrugging at each other and mouthing our intent to do something from at least six feet away.

I felt such anxiety then. A loud, piercing alarm, yelling.

It is not power. It yells and yells at the top of its lungs but it cannot do anything but yell.

I remember. I missed this then.

I'm drifting, though.

I stand, I remember the feeling a moment ago I demurred to describe.

My body drifts.

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storms 

It wasn't Saturday when I started writing this.

It is now.

I am half here, but enough to write, a dimmed screen in front of me, seeing the numbers tick up, smiling and knowing that I was able to share this.

Thank you, friends.

I should sleep soon. Just a little bit longer, perhaps. The breeze is lightened and the rain steady now.

Its awe has receded, but its beauty remains.

re: storms 

@zigg TY for the words about the storm.

I'm watching the lighting through the window and wish I had a spot to enjoy it while outside and writing some words about writing...
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Queer Garden

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