The storm is over - no, not last week's nor'easter - midterms. I hope you survived.
New England seems to be one, big storm-of-the-month club. Campus is 5 minutes from Long Island Sound and I like to go watch the mesmerizing roil of the ocean when a storm's rolling in.
The choppy hazel undulations, opaque as enamel, seem to coil-up - then suddenly slap the shoreline breakers as if testing their resolve. The wind whipped salt-water patterns, like folds of linen. The wind and salt water mist in your face feels as sharp and violent as glass shards.
The sun occasionally pierces the clouds like a knife strike only to be healed in moments. The whole scene is majestic, immense and uncontrollable - like eating cake by the ocean. (song reference) .
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem