I won’t let the Hurricane pass without experiencing
his majesty and sublimity –
and give him something to think about on its way

We knee high, looking forward to the storm as a monstrous speciality, a leviathan. Our world might be eaten, blown to bits. We wanted to be in on it.
The sulfurous afternoon went black unnaturally early, as if what was to come could not be star-lit, torch-lit, looked at. The rain set in, one huge Noah douche. Then the wind. (…)

I wish to do a first-class job when reading this Sylvia Plath stuff (Ocean 1212-W, 1962)
to the hurricane.
So I give myself a host of mental instructions like: Stand up straight! Don’t move around, and don’t use your hands! Don’t let the hurricane see you use notes! Speak loud, very loud!

The wind is so stimulating
that I could carry on prodigiously for long hours.