The trees are drunk on wind and murderous intent.

The trees are drunk on wind and murderous intent.

Twigs, branches, and logs bow down to Mother Nature in snaps as she wails on. Her cries, not unlike that of a banshee, is heard, felt, by all.

A storm laps at Sydney’s feet, and not even the hardiest Sheltas or Fultons can survive it. Requiescat in pace, Umbrellas I and II, my ones and only.

I sit in my study, squirming in hopes of eking out some warmth from between my layers of  newfound winter fat. I shall scoop Mowgli the cat into my laps, my trusty provider of warmth, I think, licking my cold-chapped lips. 

Despite Mother Nature’s tantrum, I feel a sort of peace that I’ve not felt in quite some time. Today, I am almost certain that I passed my first technical exam of the year with the richest of flying colours — I knew the answers. I think everybody did too. 

Hashtag: yolo.

Today, I kissed Mowgli on the head and he purred a purr of content, acknowledging receipt of my love for His Furriness. Today, I sung to ‘Tengo’ (‘I Hold’) by Argentinean pop star Macaco without stumbling over my Spanish like fallen Jenga. Which was usually the case.

Today, I held the hand of a mutual admirer, and for once it felt just right.

And, using the dregs of my phone credit, I discussed the (non-)crisis of masculinities in the Arabic world with an old friend. 

Today, Bondi Beach is closed on account of winter’s imminence and her intoxicated winds, but I find there are always avenues for enjoyment besides those celebrated by the masses. I only hope that I will always realise this: that if I let it, I should find solace in solitude, scintillations in darkness, understanding in blinding chaos.

To do on the next stormy evening: create a website for Mowgli.

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