Look at the tears roll down the street
– Elmore James
(I had no idea it was Elmore’s – I still hear Stevie Ray)
There is something about stormy weather I like. I particularly go wild like a crazy woman when there is thunder involved (storm without thunder is like cake without sugar). And there should be plenty of tears falling out of a very emotional sky (thunder without heavy rainfall is like softijs without a generous amount of spikkels). When that happens, I get this overwhelming urge to at least get half of my body outside (cause it can be dangerous), breathe in the sounds of relief and jump up and down. I remember an episode of thunderstorm some years ago when I was attending the most boring conference ever and experiencing the traumatic agony of restraining myself to not open the doors and windows and have a proper look at what was going on outside.
s e t m e f r e e * s e t m e f r e e * s e t m e f r e e * s e t m e f r e e * s e t m e f r e e
The black blues of the sky remind me of how small I am in a very big ball, with tiny broccoli trees and miniature houses, where all the stories take place. Dark clouds made of cotton candy are taking control of a part of that big ball, and for a little while it is decided for me that I’d better not go anywhere else.
“Cut to the chase, Pauline.”
A first theme for this blog?
I was clearly mistaken in thinking that these thunderstormy moments were those rare moments when I don’t think about food.
Let me end this post by showing you some of the beginnings.