iselle and julio

there’s something in the air. a change. an eeriness. an energy i can feel and sense and taste.

a hurricane is coming. well, two hurricanes are coming. i feel nervous, a little scared. a little worried, sure. but part of me feels like it’ll pass without a worry, in this bubble of paradise and perfection. it’s like the winds i’m feeling and hearing right now, i’ve felt and heard before. but this seems different. because we know what’s coming. we can see it: on radars and weather channels, on news reports from near and far; in the closing of businesses, the empty shelves where bottled water is usually stocked; in the eyes of people, so nervous, so over-prepared. so intensified by the emotions and paranoia of the locals and the media and the tourists. it saturates the island air.

there is so much going on, in all the people on the island where i’ve kept my heart for the best part of this year. i can feel it. vibrating, pulsating, echoing against the walls of fear built around homes of weatherboard and plaster. on the coast, waiting for the storm. waiting for the rain. waiting for the wind and floods and chaos. waiting for the damage and the fallout and the disaster and the worst.

well what pointless waiting that will be.

weather the storm. it’s wild and wickedly yelling all its secrets in spurts of showers, sun and empty sky. for now.

we wait.

moments

it’s dusk and people start to leave the beach. they scatter off in twos and threes and families, they retreat.

the sun has set, the show is over. but this is when the magic happens! this is the in betweenness. before the moon and stars. this is a moment just for you and me and us! just stay. after it all seems done, stay. nothing’s changed and no one knows better so stay.

while the air is light and the clouds glow off-white, the sand still feels warm, you’re all i need til dawn.

stay, you know it too.