If you though my vendetta against mother nature was fierce a month ago, you would see it as a tame attempt compared to my righteous apathy at this point. Every day we can expect some combination of hail, rain, snow, sunshine, or blasting winds, not necessarily in that order. Normally my reaction to any of these occurrences is one of disdain and disgust. But once, this morning around 11:12 a.m., I sat in the coffee shop and was memorized by the hail storm that swept in. The sky went from a foreboding sense of rain to a slightly darker filter of the sun, and then the clouds opened. It's as if the sky had been holding it's anger inside to be polite as businesspeople commuted to work and the day began.
But it could no longer contain itself, and the hail (that surprisingly always looks like a Dip ' Dots food fight across a cafeteria) threw itself at the ground, as if trying to penetrate the surface. I sat, mesmerized by its force and sheer curtain of white speckles, watching through the large bay windows across the room from me.
And as I sat sipping my tall white mocha and holding a book of Christopher Howell poetry, I was floored. I could do nothing but stare, in the same way you can't take your eyes off a cripple who is succeeding at getting on a bus. It was the experience of something I normally see as an annoyance or damper to my day become magical. At 11:18 a.m., it was over.
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1 comment:
This reminds me of "There is more than glass between the snow and the huge roses," from MacNiece's "Snow." I don't know why. Or, "World is crazier and more of it than we think." Really, this just made me instantly go find that poem and read it again. I also commend your use of the word "cripple," and the phrase "a slightly darker filter of the sun," which should be in a sonnet.
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