WiddershinsI used to live near saltier waters. I miss it sometimes: having a clean line between sea and sky is a comfort. There's a piece to living out there, though, and it is that the ocean is trying to kill you. Hurricanes are an excellent example.
My personal definition of a hurricane goes something like this: hurricanes are fun! The weather becomes interesting, then fascinating, then utterly riveting. The trick, though, is that there comes a moment when it is fun no longer, and you want it all to stop.
It doesn't, though. That's nature out there. It makes me happy I live up here on the quiet side of this little hill.
In the near distance, the fireworks are booming over the river. The breeze is cool, and the refrigerator has developed new percussion in its work. My foot remains a bit sore: in addition to the venoms of yellowjackets and hornets, it appears that I am also not dangerously allergic to the hot touch of the common honey bee. These little discoveries are getting somewhat old.
In the far distance, darker works are over the ocean, and they are spinning up.
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