it’s pouring with rain and my shoulder is wet because I have the window open while I browse flickr. the breezes smell of thunderstorms.
the air is so heavy today, it swirls like soup. the clouds sag and there is static at my fingertips.
there is nothing like standing in the middle of a field in the middle of a storm, with wet mud between your toes and your camera around your neck. who else is doing this right now? who else is watching the lightning in the clouds and feeling their bones shake with the thunder? the earth is vibrating. the rain drops like silver bullets. this is me and the place I come from and the place I depend on and the place I live within connecting, momentarily. this is me remembering that I am tiny.