We are expecting a typhoon tomorrow. Typhoon Wipha, number 26. A big one. A once-in-ten-years kind of blow-down throw-down. Apparently the last time a storm of this magnitude came through, they had to pick up the front gate of our school down the street from the parking lot of the gymnasium. School has been cancelled, we bought some groceries and are battened down for the night.
There was another typhoon, number 18, in September. In its wake, the particulates of industry were washed out of the air, nature’s version of high-definition clarity. The windows were covered in dried-in-place drops of salt sea-brine, and as the sun set, the colors lit up a cloud-painted sky.
I came across a furniture shop in Bali that used recycled wood and recrafted it into very beautiful chairs and tables. Each piece showing so many layers of paint and varnish and degradation, each it’s own life, it’s own story. Each piece made of mismatched boards from different stories, a collision of pasts in the present. Sadly, there is no room for more furniture in our Japanese apartment, so I took some photographs to be reminded of the colors and textures I found there. In truth, even if there were room in the apartment, the most beautiful pieces I saw that day were all claimed with little yellow sticky-notes that read “Miss Libby.” So Miss Libby, wherever you are, may you sit in the dreamy beauty of layered lives and bask in the satisfaction of a great find.