As I head off to work in an approaching typhoon…..this is what a typhoon smells like

The Black Narcissus



Last night, as the typhoon was still lashing Okinawa, when I got to the station at Ofuna and the train doors opened I just thought sea. The entire air had been convulsed and moiled, like a salty, kelp-loden interlude. I found it refreshing, inviting. A geographical shift; unexpected. As I walked up the hill to the house the air was mist-covered; shrouded, but clear. Touching, vaguely, on spooky, but more on the magical tip; with things and plants thrown into silhouetted, gloomy relief against the electric light of the moon, despite what a Japanese friend called, intriguingly, ‘this disquieting air’.

Today, as it rages across the country, offloading water by the godfull , causing all kinds of havoc in the southern prefecture of Kagoshima, Kyushu: where we are, near the capital, it was sunny this morning, only tinting into bruised and blowy by the afternoon, when the winds began to…

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  1. MrsDalloway

    Take care! Amazing post, I hope you have some of this in your book.

  2. Filomena

    Even though it doesn’t seem possible, your writing gets better and better. What a beautiful post!

    • But this is an old one.


      I don’t think I can write like this now.

      I have been polluted

      • OnWingsofSaffron

        Rubbish! You write—like every other writer—sometimes heart-achingly well and sometimes just plain well. And as for “polluted”, that’s pure drama. In my opinion you are at your very, very best when you write about your inner self: when you snatch something out of the blue, juggle with it, inhale it, sort of ingest it and then (with snippets of your past, your childhood and youth; with references to culture, art, etc; with confessions of conflicting emotions) transform it and bring it to life, because it’s about you. And then the reader can relate most intimately with what you wrote.

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