i’m (predictably) appreciative of the current weather. i enjoy waking up to the insistent pings against the roof of my tiny attic space, the cool mist that gently hovers just inside my window screen when i throw open the blinds that one of my roommates shut, again. leaves forlornly strewn across cracked sidewalks, slippery unassuming corpses. occasional horizontal sprays that render flimsy umbrellas useless. small, precious pavement islands beckoning amongst encroaching oceans. i bypass dryer paths to stomp through these, an angry god disrupting microcosmic ecosystems. fearless, terrible. i enjoy the dry invincibility of my boots, although their weight creates noticeable restrictions in my normally uninhibited gait. small price to pay for moments of childish divinity.
it’s funny to watch straightened locks clutched and covered, frazzled owners clucking worriedly, bemoaning their nearly instantaneous undoing. my crown revels in the moisture, drinking eagerly. [natural: 1; synthetic: 0.]
there’s a certain lassitude that permeates the atmosphere, creating watery symphonies that lull one into a waking slumber: drip, drop… drip, drop… a heavenly reminder to slow down, perhaps? i certainly wouldn’t object to a nap right now.
It is raining. I am tempted to write a poem. But I remember what it said on one rejection slip: After a heavy rainfall, poems entitled RAIN pour in from across the nation. -Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath