city storms

Thunder storms in cities are an unusual thing. There's something unnatural about them. They sound canned. Like audience laughter on sitcoms. Perhaps it's the steel skyscrapers and pavement. Thunder storms bring to mind damp earth, the rustle of trees, and a brisk wind. They have a deep, earthy smell mixed with the feel of electricity. It stirs the blood.

City storms have something missing. They sound almost fake. They feel almost fake. They rumble around steel, glass, and concrete like an unbalanced washing machine. I've been told that the city smells fresh. I suppose for a city, that's true. It smells like wet concrete and paper mixed with some not-quite-right smell. It smells like a wet city. Perhaps I truly am a small town girl. I miss the trees, the plants, the animals outside of squirrels and pigeons, the places where you can see open sky. Maybe it's the crush of people that get to me in the city. I have a friend who stated he felt trapped in the suburbs. It's funny because I, while not necessarily trapped, feel stuck. I can go anywhere I want, do anything I want, be anyone I choose. I can be surrounded by people--thousands of them--all day, every day, and still be totally alone.

October has arrived, bringing cooler temperatures and the comfort of sweaters and sweatshirts though it took nearly half the month before I even saw a light jacket. I don't think they'd be wearing them now except for the brisk breeze. It's mild out but the slightly damp breeze that whips through the streets causes a chill. My visit to the city that never sleeps is almost half way over. I miss my bed and the comfort the familiar brings. In all, I've had a fun time so far.