Last night the wind it winded and the rain it rainded. I suspect that might have something to do with my disturbed sleep, but maybe not everything. ( I dreamed... )
The storm is exhilarating. I love the wind blowing my hair around and rushing past my face. I go straight past the huddling crowd at the intersection trying to hide in the lee of the building and revel in the blast of rain and wind. Maybe it's the additional ozone, but it makes me feel alive. Certainly not a day for light, short, skirts though, unless perhaps the wearer also enjoys the rush of air around their thighs!
Orlanthi I shall be, and those without reference may wonder at the poesy! Or perhaps the Storm Bull? I smile at the thought and feel fey, like the bull before battle. I meet answering smiles from those who know the feeling. Today is a good day to live, and if one must die it might as well be on the wind. The building shakes to The Bull's roar, to Orlanth's song. Flight is surely possible on such days. I see the glass building ripple, as when Trinity swings from the helicopter. Anything is possible. Everything fluxes and flexes and flows. This, from a butterfly's wing?
Current mood: 
groggy
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mundens's journal