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Francis Masat

That Which Begins

A tropical storm closes the horizon. Sunlight rays a cloud, firing through our window. Glasses blaze, spreading rainbows on the walls. Waiting shapes their brightness until each spectrum fades.

As the wind rises, night descends. A land crab climbs a bush that disappears. A tree flicks as if it is a paintbrush: its leaves simply vanish. The electricity goes off. Our roof vibrates in eerie dissonant harmony with the wind’s constant unearthly moan.

I try to write by candlelight, but it is no use. I stare out the window as wet black presses in. I wonder, “What’s next?” An answer begins to seep under our door.

hurricane –
the water and the land
become one