When it rains, it rains, it rains and it rains.
That's what hits the pavement far below and that's what I see past my window. I'd been looking at the harbour, clocking the expression it was painting on the city, for 3 days now on account of it being so hot, and me being on the beach and so close to it, and walking on the track above the nearby suburbs and looking down toward the roofs of the business that churns the people here, seeing them coated in glutinous sun and the harbour glinting. The harbour was a mischief. Highstreet behaviour, like banking, warrant of fitness, running in for a drink, looking for metallic belts, was commonplacely one-eyed like always, and even through the impermeable, amateur focus of accumulation of hours in acts, the harbour managed to sweep itself into a peripheral dimension, so that every breath and awareness seemed to be happening on the edge of something.
And then it got hot, with a curious metallic lightness; then it got so light, the clouds were silver and if you were to find yourself inside one, you might have heard ringing; then the sky disappeared into silver and all of a sudden it was dark.
On the peninsula, the view of the city was munched up by globulous, fastmoving clouds, shapeshifting but motionless, an emulsion of water vapour and vaporized proofs of human life poised across the harbour, so few feet up.
And I was very happy that the lady behind me had 2 cans of tuna and 4 cans of salmon, because it looked like a habit and it's quite a nice feeling to believe you share a nutritional culture with a stranger in the same town, it feels like you live here.
It broke like saucepans and tambourines on patios without number. It broke like glass. The wind weaved through the raindrops falling straight straight, it felt like being kissed. Nobody left for 16 minutes, it just came down.
At the moment, the whole place is grey. If it is still raining it is doing it very quietly, at this point I can't see past the glass on the window, I can't see the harbour. Perhaps the harbour doesn't exist. Actually, there are lights on the peninsula, I can see those. Which means the harbour is still there, but it is incredibly cold.
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2 comments:
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i've just read every single word that you've written in this blog, and i'm no closer to understanding anything about you at all, and yet i'm still intereted.
is confusion enough of a sense of being, to read into someone else's everything? or at least just enough of a reason to find interesting ways to waste the little free time i have throughout the day in tiny increments.
whatever the reason, good stuff. i am confused and maybe enthralled.
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sweet. i'm slightly jetlagged and smiling like a loon now, going to go hug somebody, being home and all, ahhh. um - was that a trick question? the idea of "enough" puzzles me, enough so that mental games about going into a store with a finite (but unknown) amount of funds and trying to match an unmarked item with what -intuitively or something- i trusted (had to be trust) was enough to equal the value of the item. Worth and value approximation i guess.
:)
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