7 March, 1999—Kuta, Bali—
I swam for an hour beneath a sky half dark as death, half burning blue—then flinched, and fled at last for shelter, the dark half nipping at my heels all the way home. And though I felt always only one step ahead of the storm, it seems I have outpaced it after all. I‘m back in my room now, I’ve already showered all trace of sand and salt from my skin, and the only thing that has fallen from the sky are these shadows. I settle down protected on my porch to face the threat of thunder in the distance, convinced that there’ll be violence yet—.
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