Three o’clock AM.
We’re in the middle of a storm of wind and rain. I’ve been sleeping poorly tonight, I don’t know why. Monday was such a nothing kind of day, everyone exhausted from all the holiday hype, now finally over with. We go through this bs every year but no one can explain why. Probably we’ll keep doing the same thing for years hence. But nature doesn’t care about our rituals, therefore the windstorm howling in the night. As if to echo the storm, you can hear a train horn moaning long and mournfully like a whale in the deep sea. The air catches the sound and carries it, buffeting and smudging it as it does. The medium of air is like that of the sea for sound waves, only the sea takes them farther. The song of a humpback can be heard for miles away. There was a break in the weather, but now the rain renews itself, and I know that my writing is as solitary as the whale and his faraway song.
robgradens 