Lamma Island, 9:35PM – Windy.
Winking whitecaps all day today. A jumping ferry, side to side, like a child who needs to pee badly, very badly. I went to Central and back just to spite the weather.
The ocean is moving in one direction only, toward Lamma, in long, pressing strokes, as if being smoothed over with a giant butter knife. An invisible hand spreading butter over the surface of the sea. Beautiful topaz typhoon butter.
I read a short story by Olga Tokarczuk today. It was about a woman on her deathbed in a shtetl in a bygone Poland. She said that the wind is the movement of the dead hanging around, waiting for the messiah. Well, today the dead were very pushy.