35 tagged with #weather

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warning shot


ice releases with a crunch; my eyes turn upward, as if i can visually trace its trajectory through the ceiling. i can follow the slide with my ears, though, and pick the window facing its predicted exit into freefall. water trickles everywhere. it's barely mid-january; this melt is a tease. the warmth of the air feels ominous, not welcoming.

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10 January 2018 16:05


remnants


i'm down to the last few soft-leaded pencils gifted to me from my late great-uncle, who was the first blood relation that made me believe that i might be a valid human being. the lead has shattered within the core over twenty years of moving, packing, sharpening, angsting. i can feel the wood splinter with a careless turn in the sharpener, and i flinch.

i can still use it like this. i can still hold it tightly enough to keep the last bit of lead from slipping out. i can't even read all the words printed on the side of it anymore, other hand 'hwa', 'drawing', and '6b'.

i remember drawing animals in distress, broken hands, full moons, stretched faces, with this pencil. i remember my great-uncle looking over my shoulder and encouraging me to make more shapes, to look at volumes in the world and think about how falling light creates shadows to define them to our eyes, to adoringly fill my sketchbook with illustrations of my life, my spaces, my dreams.

--

the rain continues to pour. i watch the radar because i cannot see the clouds from where i am, and i try to guess when the holes will reach me so i can go grocery shopping without getting drenched. whenever i put on my helmet during a break, the rain starts again before i reach the stairs.

welcome to autumn. welcome to days and weeks and months of rain. welcome to waiting for the day when it becomes too cold for the rain to reach the ground.

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18 September 2016 19:53


fog


at noon, the fog persisted.

i wrote a shortcut onto my computer to facilitate regular wordvomiting. sometimes, i stare at the screen, and ask myself why i am so afraid. when i cannot come up with an answer, i only feel more afraid.

it's cold. i feel cold.

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i do things to reduce the amount of overhead it takes for me to do things. i do things to lower the amount of activation energy i need. does this make me lazier over time, or does this leave me more room to be a better person?

i feel better today. a wall crumbles; sight clarifies.

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29 April 2016 20:09


spring tumult


in a moment, i come to the strange realization that i feel as if i've forgotten what it is like to be cold. this i realize because my skin prickles, my feet ache, my eyes dry, and i do not recall having seen the sun today.

the air folds in a hard, dense wall across the street, and my breath only adds to the tactile opacity. in the back of my mind, i'm still dreaming of summer, the season i used to dread the most as a child.

these days, i cannot seem to get enough of it.

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28 April 2016 20:36


october waxing


the shadows frosted overnight; dusty whiskered grass peers at me from the banks as i fly by. it is a sight that simultaneously exhilarates and fills me with dread. the afternoons are warm, but not hot. the soil sucks all available moisture in, ready to huddle for the winter.

not yet, i whisper to the trees. i'm scraping fallen pine needles every morning and my shoes take on a sticky sweet smell; i'm pushing all the old, dead wood into a pile behind the shed.

i find myself counting time in weeks, rather than days. i remember when i counted time in hours, and minutes, and ticked seconds off with my fingers. soon, i will observe whole months and years, and become a cold, hard carbon form.

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24 September 2015 07:57


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