Fin in a Waste of Waters

"These moments of escape are not to be despised. They come too seldom....Leaning over this parapet I see far out a waste of water. A fin turns....I note under 'F.,' therefore, 'Fin in a waste of waters.' I, who am perpetually making notes in the margin of my mind for some final statement, make this mark, waiting for some winter's evening." (from Woolf's THE WAVES)

22 July 2006


Two nights ago, I told a friend how much I missed midwest thunderstorms - you know the kind: booming & crashing thunder; flashing lightning; torrential rain; wind whipping around the house, making the windows twitch in their frames. I've heard thunder twice since I've been here - once each on two separate occassions (couldn't have anything to do with the major drought we're in the middle of here, right?).

But last night, I had my thunderstorm. First, a loud boom - it's what woke me. I thought I was dreaming until I realized the sound of pouring rain. Clattering tinnily on the empty cans left below by the hostel kids, smattering against the glass of our windows, washing over our tiny balcony. Then I got up and pulled our wide-open window down 'til it was open only a little (let some of that cool air and fresh rain smell in!). There were a few flickers of lightning, a couple of stubborn, reluctant grumbles of thunder - and then one more boom! - and then the rain really started rushing down. I laid wide awake, eyes open, thrilled with it. The entire city - even the hostel, even the planes! - was silent beneath it - the quietest I'd ever heard it. It was as if I were the only one awake and aware of the storm, as if it were mine. (And I know that this is a totally romantic, dangerously solipsistic idea...but I had my storm, at last, just two weeks before I'm due to fly back to the States...I wonder what weather there is in Brighton?)


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