I am sitting on my verandah, and there is a very large storm approaching. It's lighting up the evening sky. I appreciate its smell. And the heaviness of the air has gone too. You can hear its stomach battles: the retching gales that are of loads of water, and the sighs of dissipating queasiness. The rumble echoing through an expansive ribcage. The sky is a man struggling to hold onto his insides.
Perhaps it's pathetic fallacy. Or perhaps I'm a microcosmic replica.
No comments:
Post a Comment