"You look like the old man from Back to the Future" T says to me as I head out to capture a satellite image in still-raging Storm Darragh. "You mean Christopher Lloyd?!" I ask and she smiles a yes. I wonder about the resemblance as I walk to the middle of the park and set up a makeshift shelter for my laptop with one of the umbrellas borrowed from the communal umbrella area near the entrance of our building. No matter which umbrella I chance to grasp, I always end up with a wire poking through torn Rayon, like a featherless wing. To keep the umbrella firmly over my laptop, and thus to protect it from random sprays of rain seeming to come from all directions and nowhere, I stood on the handle with one foot while shakily steering the antenna. When sharp unexpected gusts threatened to carry the umbrella away from my exposed keyboard I had to lean my entire weight on top. There were a surprising number of people in the park with their dogs, so these antics were in full view. A chocolate Labrador came bouncing over. Normally I am happy to play with dogs while holding my antenna, but this one threatened to collapse my entire delicate balance in the wind. "You nosey dog!"" I heard a woman's voice say before the wind drowned her out. When I finally got to the end of the pass and started packing up, my fingers were so icy cold they fumbled, and somehow I managed to get a slab of mud on my trackpad.

Later at Cafe Oto I saw the great poet, ritualist, mystic and queer icon CA Conrad read their poems. For almost fifty years, CA has travelled by car across the US, writing poems and inventing somatic rituals. One of their rituals involved leaving tear off paper notes on notice boards across Philadelphia inviting people to call a number and leave a message for Elvis. Several people would call each day, some multiple times. Another ritual involved them bathing their body in the sounds of extinct species. Later they started working with the sounds of coyotes, crows and foxes: "We've got to learn to love the world we have, not the one we lost" they said. I was moved by all of their poems, but one in a new pamphlet (created in collaboration with Jacken Elswyth, a queer banjo player) resonated especially well today. It ends: "I've got the wind I say / with both hands".