Weather. The space that a bad prediction opens up- waiting for a disaster that doesn’t materialize, there is room to enjoy the lack of disaster.
The cafe that is never open on Sundays is open, and crowded with 3 baristas and half-a-dozen happy customers. Not everyone looks out of the window on a Sunday morning. Not everyone realizes that they can wade through the flood of flood warnings and mass transport suspensions waiting in their inbox. A storm, even this quiet grayness, thins out the streets. The cafe is an unexpected space, each interaction defies the prediction of the storm, and this August corner of Brooklyn has opened into a winter fishing village, cozy and sparkling in the limp rain.
I am lucky that I like the rain. The drops of a downgraded hurricane on my shoulder as I unlock the door to a darkened studio. I enter the space that I have been preserving for more than a year, filled with mirrors and books that I find on the sidewalk, waiting for the day when my creativity will find its way around the giant growth that is my love for my daughter. Today, in the drizzle of a storm that didn’t come for us, I feel that love shifting just a bit, making room for something else.