THE STORM KING
I was thinking about the storm, that’s been screeching up the canyon, winding through the forest channels, and up the long range of the south, coming up Brigantine Bay, running over the top of South Lopez Island. It was a long night – of noise and distraction and dreams. The window was open – cold crept.
I was dreaming about the day — what was said, what shall be, where the imagination shall run. Like the wind, like the wind. Still, as the storm emerges, just for the instant — a great showering of light, glinting through — like an eye.
I was reading about love, this morning. Love that is open — without surrender. To that, this day, I’ll offer that — open.
To the light, to the light. The windows, open.
T | Heading back to Seattle, in one hour.
T I M
H U M A N B R A N D | S t r a t e g i e s