Right now, after a very highheat index day (that’s how we talk about hot, humid days now), there’s a thunderstorm happening outside in the dark.
I missed the first hour of it. When I arrived home I took the day’s second shower, and then dinner. The air conditioning has been on, and music— distractions. So I’ve had only the barest awareness of this summer storm.
But the record just ended, and I let it end (though it’s not even really a record, but a stream, a subscription, which is how we talk about music now).
I let it end and the thunder sounds big and powerful, like the things we used to know from stories.
I love the things we used to know from stories, and I want to bring them back. Stories are the reason we ever made it this far— as individuals, and as a species. Stories are powerful, like thunder and lightning.
(A summer storm sounds like the world existing, as it does, with or without us.)
You guys, let me tell you that life in the Big City is just one crazy adventure after another, and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Why, this very afternoon, some crazy, impromptu shit went down! Or rather, came down, I should say.
I was weekend-chillin’ in my apartment when I heard an alarming sound from the kitchen, followed by a second, even more elaborate sound. And like a fine wine, that second sound had a long finish—of pebbles bouncing on the floor, a trailing off kind of sound.
The crunch of gravel underfoot; incline. Sun coming in low and glaring off every harbor-facing pane of the buildings on the other side of the park. Cold. Empty playground today, and no leaves remain on the trees. I can see the harbor through the naked branches and the shining points of the city beyond neighboring rooftops out the kitchen windows.
A pigeon jaunts his way across the payment.
I saw the park pristine in late morning; no boots had trod to mar the blank white field. It’s nearly the solstice, then the days will edge toward longer ones again. I’ve put the bike up for the season.
Sometimes I feel as though I’m steering a ship with no map, no stars to navigate by, and the most frustrating thing is that there’s no way to even ask for a map, for stars. You’re just there, adrift in the darkness, hoping that the next piece of intel will crack some code, provide you with a Rosetta stone.
More likely, though, you will only feel more lost. Sometimes your internal compass is all you’ve got.
I’ve been meaning to get a handle on Snapchat for awhile. My initial impetus being that it’s prevalent among social media, so as a designer working in motion graphics and editing (among other media), it’s important to stay on top of such things.
While I’ve made half-hearted attempts before, always my interest waned. Turned out all I needed was a four hour bus ride wherein I was basically trapped and a little bored— and voila! A monster was born.
I passed on my new obsession to Kelley upon arriving in Baltimore and we were horrible teens for the remainder of our little trip, snapping away and adding stickers to All the Things! We have mastered the art of being 12.