Beats Upon my Windowpane

New York turns a garlicky pesto-in-the-fishtank color right before rain; the grumbly gray of New England harbor rain is fiercer but not as dangerous somehow, and the indigo spectacle of coming storms in western hardpan unsettles in a different way. Here there’s a soggy burlap lag in the air and the buildings hunker down, suddenly heavy stone havens rather than struts of framing steel and glass in the sky.

It’s doing that now.

About Linus

The man behind the curtain. But couldn't we get a nicer curtain?
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