One wall of my tiny flat consists almost entirely of windows, facing the bay. Facing the horizon, facing the world that is not my country.
I'm living on a ledge, on the edge of Finland.
Last night I really felt it. A storm crossed the sea and hurled itself at the Finnish coast. Me and my unprotected windows on the fourth floor were among the first to feel it, and it was like standing on the bridge of a small ship in the Bermuda Triangle. Only darkness outside, wind and rain lashing the windows. I ventured out on the balcony to save a lantern and a wind chime, and at one point wondered if the wind would toss me over the railing.
I used to be afraid of the autumn storms, a few years ago when I moved here. But although this was probably the worst one, I'm too used to them by now. Or perhaps the flu virus or my New York-longing preoccupied me. I went to bed but left the bedside light on for a while. I watched the wildness of the night, listened to the howling of the wind and for the first time (not counting the earthquake a couple of years ago) felt the whole building shake every time a gust of wind pounded against it. It was all set in stark contrast to the warmth of the small lamp by my elbow and the thick duvet.
"The noise will keep me awake for half the night", I said to myself. And fell peacefully asleep before I had finished the thought.
No comments:
Post a Comment