12THE STORM IS here at last. The trees scrape against my window. They sound like they want to get in. I hang around the window for a moment, wanting to see how a storm ravages a
small island like this. I pay dearly for my lingering. I’m soaked in seconds. All I see is a haze of water, and the smeared green of helpless trees and vegetation.
I pull the window panes shut and take a few steps back, feeling the water climb down my clothes to the floor. A few rumbles of thunder. I sit by my desk and stare at the shadows of trees,
shaking ferociously. I hear the leaves scattering down the stone path. It rained that day too. In the jungle, I mean. Also an angry rain, but more oppressive, with so little room to maneuver among
the trees. This storm is freer. There’s an entire expanse of ocean an
