here comes a gale

[ontology]

There was a thunderstorm a few hours ago, a violent, chaotic sort of storm, crashing and banging and raging all over the sky. I kept getting up and running out onto the porch because I needed to be in it. It was hot, at first, hot and thick like damp black flannel, and when I stood in the driveway out back before the rain came the air tingled restlessly with anticipation. Then the storm came, like some avenging god: it was magnificent, and glorious, and splendidly terrible. I've never seen a storm like it, I think; certainly not since I grew out of being frightened of them. It was only seven in the evening, an hour before the sun went down, but the sky was green-grey-black and the whole world was dark. (Funny, though; daytime darkness has a potently different quality from nighttime darkness -- there's something in the edges of it, something in the colours. Somehow, it is also spookier.) The wind was weird, in the old, mostly forgotten sense of the word; I want to say that it was fey, but nothing dire happened and nothing dire is likely to happen, really. There was this strange, dual sense of heat and cool: the thick, still air and the chill wind, soft and sharp all at once. And how the thunder crashed!

After dinner, I went up to my bedroom, sat on the trunk in front of my window, opened the window wide (by this time the storm had quieted; the thunder had stopped altogether, the wind was less frenetic, but the sky was still sea-coloured and heavy with rain), lit candles (it was too dark to see properly, but I hate artificial lights, and the glare of a lightbulb would have banished romance forthwith), and spent a phantasmagorical space of time discovering Patrick Wolf's The Wind in the Wires, which, as wanderlight said, has the perfect atmosphere for stormy weather. I kept glancing between the trees frantic in the wind and the candle-flames on my desk inside wavering witchily and casting odd shadows on the wall behind, and it was magical. I don't know if I've ever had a more memorable album-listening experience.

The world was another place, I think. It was curious: the atmosphere of the world Patrick Wolf was creating and the world I could see with my outward eyes were nearly one and the same. The day that began and the day that ended aren't the same days.


(Alas, now I seem to have a cold coming on; there is a nasty stiffness in my sinuses. Drat you, world of prose!

Comments

[safebox.livejournal.com]

Wow, what an entry! And yes, sounds like the perfect way to discover Wind in the Wires, isn't it utterly wonderful?

[travellers-home.livejournal.com]

Thunderstorms = love.

We had one on Friday, with lightning and thunder and high winds (apparently there was a tornado as well, which is rare in our area). I didn't get to appreciate it properly, as my brother and I were mowing someone's lawn, but on the way home, we passed a lake that was a weird, stormy green... and it wasn't reflecting the sky, which was a smoky blue. Also, it smelled gloriously like a storm.

I don't think I've ever sat and listened to music during a storm though. I should definitely try that sometime. ♥

[midenianscholar.livejournal.com]

We were hit by a storm last night around midnight, too, though it never really reached a climax. (In my opinion, if it's going to storm it'd better give a [safe] show and storm. None of this distant thunder that never actually arrives business Virginia seems so fond of.) It's odd, because I was absolutely terrified of storms when I was younger (thanks to hurricanes) but now I like to see the power of it all. Reminds me about how powerful, sharp and--angry isn't the word, perhaps violent? I don't know--God is. Which, I think, is normally watered down a lot by all the compassion and loving side of Him. (But God is a God of war too, as Hittite Warrior said.)

Though again, I must caution you about lightning and being out of doors. My Aunt Janet forgot her first sixteen years of life because she got hit (and she's never been able to remember it).

[builtofsorrow.livejournal.com]

Oh, love, this is a gorgeous entry.

I was driving up from San Diego last night, up to Orange County to see my family, and quite a bit of the drive runs along the coast. Dark, heavy clouds rolled in and over the sun as it was setting, and everything was all a bit eerie. It never rained, and I was nearly overcome at one point with an urge to weep because it wasn't raining, and that was so wrong, with the clouds as they were.

It was lovely to wake up to this entry this morning, because snatches of it brought my drive home last night to life in words I never would have found, and the rest of it describe a kind of storm I've rarely experienced (there was one similar in Warsaw last spring (although a storm in the city is something all its own), and another I think last summer in Canada somewhere, but it wasn't nearly so lovely as this one sounds).

Thank you.

(And feel better soon, darling. -sends virtual orange juice & chicken soup- -hugs-)

♥♥

[wanderlight.livejournal.com]

*saves to memories*

I think I just got The Flash. Storms are -- good for that, I think; some of the most amazing experiences I've had have been alone, during storms. Granted, I don't have candle-flames on my desk, but I'm glad you had the Patrick Wolf in the background ... because it is perfect, and I find that whenever I experience something to a soundtrack the music becomes imbued with the experience.

Anyhow. ♥

Patrick Wolf + storms = I think you need this (http://www.mediafire.com/?7ms3xe3fc3y).