Cruel Sky

G. Looks Better When the Sky Is Cruel #

Winter improves G. I know summer is supposed to belong to coastal cities, but honestly I think G. becomes more truthful when the sky looks violent. This weekend the sea was dark grey-green and the wind near C. almost hurt to breathe in. Perfect. Dad spent most of Saturday drinking espresso near the windows while smoking continuously and criticizing politics with professional disappointment. The apartment felt warm in that particular masculine way: coffee, newspapers, smoke, old music, sea air entering through badly behaved windows.

No decorative candles.
No carefully arranged flowers.
No performance.

I love Mom’s elegance but there’s something emotionally restful about Dad’s apartment because nothing there tries to impress anyone. Today I walked with M. near the harbor while the wind destroyed our hair and everybody looked slightly furious at the weather. He was wearing a dark blue scarf and talking about sailing again with that calm concentration he only has when discussing the sea or Sampdoria. I asked once why he likes sailing so much and he shrugged for almost thirty seconds before saying: “You can’t control everything there.” Which honestly explained more about him than intended.

By evening, the city looked silver under rain and the entire port smelled like salt, diesel, cigarettes, and cold metal…

Beautiful.
In a slightly damaged way.

CRUEL SKY.
Remember me,
Eclipse