of the ferocity of memories

The wind’s so fierce; carrying all that it can, making them scuttle-fly-twirl-dance across the road-air-garden. It teased lazy, fluffy white clouds into crossly grey, amassing together in belligerence of their treatment. The sun’s rays broke through the heavy angry clouds, as if trying to lighten their sullenness.

It was so beautifully scary and I watched on in quiet awe.

As I drove down my street, three kids were playing with a light baby blue parachute that’s seen better days. Okay, maybe not playing, it looked like they were trying to pack it away or something, but the mischievious wind has other plans.

I wanted to stop and take a photo, but I didn’t. I wish I had the guts to just get out and take photos and to hell if people don’t like me taking photos of them.

I think that’s why I suck so much at taking people photos… among other reasons like I don’t know how to take photos of moving things, of things that can get annoyed if you take too long in tweaking your camera settings or making sure that the composition is right. Gotta learn to be more versatile and quick I guess.

Today’s weather reminded me of the time Ruby and I were riding our bikes to Johnny’s place (about 45 minutes away). The sky was leadened by angrily black clouds, accentuated by flashes of the occasional lightning, driven by howling gale-like winds, and grumbling its discontent.

Debris, big and small, were being blown against our backs, into our eyes, mouths and faces. The ferocity of the wind almost snatched our breaths away. The storm was right on our tails as we pedalled furiously to shelter.

It was mere seconds when we got to Johnny’s place that the sky hurled big, fat raindrops down in torrents – a sheet of water casading down to the wind-whirled earth.

It was so exhilirating.

It was almost scary.

I can’t remember the last time I felt so alive that I tingled.