atmospheric_river ovenbird This is what we call it now when the rain won’t stop, when it is swept sideways by 50 km/hour winds, when the sky and the land flood simultaneously and everything is water. It’s been raining so hard, and for so long, I have become a jellyfish, translucent and pale, ghostly and insubstantial. I drift. In this dark, dense, tide-kissed world I am always about to fall apart. My limbs are harpoons, my body is a mouth. You look right through me. You fear my venom and never see my softness. “You seem annoyed,” you say. No, not annoyed, grief-struck and wounded. You can’t tell the difference. It rains so hard that the house becomes a drum and I can’t sleep. I have fragmented dreams where I’m spied on by school children. In the morning you won’t ask how I’m doing because you don’t want to know. If you knew you would have to see and if you saw you would have to bear witness and that would ruin your day at the beach. You’d rather be ignorant of the moon jellies in the water. Surely the current will carry them away. Nothing to worry about. Every day brings more rain. There’s no point crying when I’m already underwater. 251215 what's it to you? who go blather from