whispers in the storm

There’s a front moving in. The temperature’s dropped 10 degrees in the last fifteen minutes. Crazy winds, lightning, torrential rain all predicted. The works. I’m looking forward to it; a bit of wrathful weather to break the heat. It’s been hot. And I’ve been hungover. It’s no fun to be hungover when the sun’s burning and the air feels like chowder.

I’m hungover because I drank too much wine, beer, and whisky last night. It was one of those old friends things. The too much you drink is directly proportional to the too long its been since you’ve seen someone you love dearly. It often happens the night before a wedding. Thankfully no wedding today, as I would have been in no fit state. Instead I went for a run in the blazing sun and relentless humidity. I stopped a few times, even when the traffic lights were in my favour. The sea was rough but gorgeous, crashing over White St Pier and drenching site seers. Sweat streamed off my face, a mix of IPA and Talisker from the night before.

When I got back the kids were playing in the pool. I jumped in to cool off but left them to it. I showered and dressed and grabbed my book and promptly fell asleep on the couch. All the adults in the house napped while the kids jumped and splashed and cannonballed and threw the pool noodle at each other. It felt strange to be one of the adults in the house. Alien.

The front arrived. It’s chucking it down, and the sky rages with lightning, thunder, and the loud whispers of trees in the gale.