I could feel the storm in my body. The spinning energy generated by that colossal pinwheel of wind and moisture coming onshore moved through my being the way a willow rod bends in the hands of a water dowser. Then my battered left knee began to ache. The gusting exhalation began sometime in the late-December night. It was a warm storm, and I opened the bedroom window a few inches to give this animal of wind-driven rain space to slip its fingers in and massage my sleepless ears.
"Late afternoon. I could feel the storm in my body, the way it chased its own cold tail eastward, the way the music of rain ceased and overcast became cracked with turquoise."
Just call this what it is, Tom, poetry and be done with it. And, thank you.
Jan 15, 2023·edited Jan 15, 2023Liked by Tom Titus
I agree with ME Hope, Poetry!
This jumped out at me though because if I could easily reach the cord I would unplug this modern convenience when I come inside to sit by the woodstove in the early morning and write.
"At least the refrigerator would be silent."
I loved the silence that my years living in a wall tent provided.
"Late afternoon. I could feel the storm in my body, the way it chased its own cold tail eastward, the way the music of rain ceased and overcast became cracked with turquoise."
Just call this what it is, Tom, poetry and be done with it. And, thank you.
Enjoyed reading it!
I agree with ME Hope, Poetry!
This jumped out at me though because if I could easily reach the cord I would unplug this modern convenience when I come inside to sit by the woodstove in the early morning and write.
"At least the refrigerator would be silent."
I loved the silence that my years living in a wall tent provided.