7 Hail Storm

(HINT-- Click on 'Set' and folow the pictures sequentially and you'l have a continuous storey+

my Personal Manifesto on art vs Capitolism-

 

ENJOYYYyyyyAHyYYYyyyyEEEEEEeeeeeHAAAAAAaaaaa!!

 

HAIL STORM

01-14-03

 

The Pounding Roar of a Very active Surf has not Left my ear since I arrived,

I go to sleep with it,

I wake up to it,

It catches my attention Countless times a Day and is never off my mind except when sought-after Focus finds it Butting

back into the Revolutions my Life is Turning.

The Breakers Crack Like Thunder begins,

Then Rumble down the Wave as it Crests and Falls Laterally into Foam that

Is sucked back into the Deep,

Melting into the Under tow,

with half-Plus of the Force that Facilitated in its Birth.

It’s Dance is the Dance of the Thunderhead,

Celebration of the Thunder Beings.

To Watch the surf is to observe the Thunder Beings Frolic

From a Box Seat in the Balcony of Heaven.

It is the Wind in Liquid Form.

To be

Too Relaxed in these Waters,

is to Be in the Autumn Field disobeying one of Daddy’s Rules.

“Keep Your eye to that Sky Boy,

if it Whimpers Pull the Plow til it Passes!

But you head Straight for the House if you See old Purple Satan Risin’ in the North.”

Old Purple Satan is

What they Should Have Named the Blue Norther.

And Purple he Was.

He would Peak up to over the length of the Northern Horizon,

Just to see if you were Watching, then,

A long and Deep Purple Ribbon

that would Rise into the sky as if a Curtain being Pulled

Into a Turbulent Umbrella of Gail Force Darkness,

Stinging Sands,

Swirling Sheets of Ice,

Snow,

Metal,

Hail and

Trouble for a Youngster in nothing more than Cut offs made from Worn Out Jeans,

With a wrench in his Hand

beside a Farmall in need of repair

while un-awares

Beneath The Amber Glow of a Beautiful Autumn Afternoon.

But!

that Youngster wasn’t me.

I was aware of the Weather,

the wind couldn’t Sneak up on me.

I lived in it.

I began my Day in it,

Hauling water in Buckets to couple a Hundred Hogs

With Straight Winds from the North Passing through three layers of Jeans,

Two Cotton tee shirts,

and however Many shirts would fit

Beneath Uncle A.C.’s old Navy pea Coat

(I assumed it was the Coat he wore

while delivering Marines to the Shores at Guadel Canal),

A Furry Cap with Floppy ears that Tied Around a Cup-towel that

Mother had Fashioned into a Bandana and tied around my face

Like the Guys who held up Stage Coaches in those B-Westerns,

And me,

Side-long and Leaning into the North Like a Lonely Butress Who

Was Forging into the East in Search of a Wall to support,

And with a Full five Gallon Bucket of Sloshing Water

Tugging at each Arm,

Whose Remnants of What the The Hogs Sloshed out of the

Old Hot Water tanks We’d Cut in Half with a torch and

Welded Legs onto,

Would Be Ice before it Reached the Ground.

 

I watched the Wind through the Corner of my Eye,

With my Face Aimed at the book I was assumed to have been Reading in Silent Class.

I watched my Daddy Feel the Wind as if asking his Question of it,

Then,

Take a Deep Breath,

Put His Hands Backwards to his Waist,

Stretch and say,

“Yep! Let’s get the Seed

in the Planter boxes, Boys.

This is the Day.

 

Or he’d Huff in an exhale,

Shrug his Shoulder,

His forehead would Wrinkle,

He’d take a Breath,

lean back and moan the Words

“ Fraid we’re in For Hail, Boy!

I can feel it?”

He’d take another Deep Breath.

“Can’t you Smell it?”

“See it’s Color?”

Done