The wind comes before the storm. It’s feelings are always conveyed honestly, and today with a force like tidal waves.
The clouds rush by, unveiling small patches of blue sky. Surely there are foreign objects floating in my coffee, put there by this monstrous wind.
As I sip the coffee from one of my most coveted mugs, I feel the air is anxious and heavy. There is much worry on its breath. The sun shows its garish face for but a moment because clouds dominate the sky. Frogs beneath the grass sense it, too—the coming of a storm. Mittens the cat paces back and forth, wondering why the sun is hiding (or perhaps why I’d forgotten to bring treats).
I filled the birds’ feeder with sunflower seeds a few minutes ago, but I am sure most of them are nestled in their leafy homes in preparation of the squall. The wind is picking up again. It reminds me of rain storms at the beach, when the waves get greater and stronger. The trees mimic the sound of the ocean.
The temperature is too warm for pants, so when the rain begins, my legs will be the first to know of it. The taste of gingerbread coffee on my tongue, thoughts of the gray beach in my mind, the sound of waves and frogs in my ears, and the restless feeling in the air make me wonder if I should return to the confines of my kitchen to see how the stormy day broods on.
The wind’s power-show finally coerces me back inside, a black and white Mittens at my heels.
-7 février 2017, 12:15 pm-