Worst sandstorm I've seen yet is going outside.
The world is yellow. I can't see more than a block. There's grit all over me: blown into my eyes, my nose, my ears, my mouth. My hair has a nice cap of tan-gray.
During a sandstorm, the world goes eerily quiet. People aren't in the streets, cars aren't in the streets. You hear the wind; you hear the branches snapping off of trees. Sounds that you do hear are oddly magnified in the quiet. A lone car horn made me jump, so did a branch crashing.
It's keeping up, so I'm going to hunker down in the library and hope that I don't get hungry before it ends.
Because God knows the open-air shops won't be open.
(There are, of course, a few groups of boys sitting outside on campus during this. Their number has, however, decreased steadily in the 90 minutes it's been storming. Boys are boys everywhere. Sorry, gentlemen.)
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
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1 comment:
Good work, men. Keep representing. Don't let nature win.
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