The speaker stands on a quay after a violent day of hurricane weather, still dazed. In the sudden quiet, big questions surface: how strange it seems that anyone could claim to own a piece of the Earth. But the shock doesn’t stay philosophical for long—hunger, fatigue, and vertigo take over. Around them, the evening is vivid and unsettled: a flushed horizon, a friend holding whiskey, birds screaming in palm trees, tackle clanking against battered boats. The mood is raw and fragile, poised between exhaustion and awareness. It ends on a plain, almost stoic contrast: that they ended up here and that the day is ending are facts; whether they will be alive tomorrow is only conjecture. The storm has stripped things down to uncertainty, leaving only the immediate, wobbling present.
Hurricane Season — Summary
The quay is quiet after the day’s riotous weather. We wonder, stunned, about such fundamental
concepts as property. Suddenly how very strange it is to think that anyone would claim to own
a piece of Earth. Our ponderings give way to hunger, fatigue, and vertigo. Horizon
is florid like the face of our friend caressing whiskey. Birds scream in palm trees. Tackle on the boats knocks
as battered boats rock. We ended up here, and this day is ending—facts. We'll be alive tomorrow—conjecture.