Saturday, November 04, 2006

summer storm



Because our apartment is a loft style, and because its summer and every door and window in the place is open, the heavy traffic noise from our quasi-industrial suburb finds me no matter where I hide.

The days are getting hotter now and as I type, dark clouds are rolling in. They blanket the sky, sitting low and heavy. You can tell a summer storm is about to break because the clouds almost block out the sun giving everything a dark grey/blue tinge, and the air is hot and thick with humidity.

The cold beer sitting next to me has thick beads of condensation trickling down its dark brown skin like the perspiration that collects at the end of my nose and chin and drips, drips, drips.

I stare at the unfinished canvas in my loungeroom with newspaper laying in assorted states of destruction about the place in a vain attempt at keeping paint off the floor. The brush that i lay down moments ago is weeping paint onto the palette. Cheap green acrylic paint spreads out as if it were trying to escape.

Taking a swig from the bottle, turning my attention outside I make my way onto the balcony to watch the clouds burst. My nostrills are filled with the dirty sweet smell of raindrops evaproating on the hot bitumen below.

Closing my eyes I breathe it deep into my lungs. Water pours down from the sky now with such force and volume that gutters overflow, spilling onto footpaths and flooding driveways. Children emerge, dancing and kicking water at each other.

Even though the rain cools hot surfaces like roads and roofs, it's still hot and it only adds to the humidity. Winds blow sticky warm air and the occasional spray from the heavy droplets pounding on the tin roof like a crescendo drum roll.

I settle into an old canvas chair and watch show unfold.

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