Skip to content

synchronicity

July 21, 2010

It strikes me as odd that as I wrote about the strange stormy weather in Geneva in 1816 when Mary was starting to write Frankenstein, a sudden storm has blown up here. The wind is knocking beach parasols over. Some pictures have even fallen off the wall. Meanwhile in 1816, it is midnight, and Byron has just recited some scary lines by Coleridge and Shelley has just run out of the room shrieking. I am trying to think of words that are Not “howl” “blow” or “gust.”

No comments yet

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: