Still on a bit of a "pause", while I sort out some things "I.R.L." (in real life dont'ch know) ... but I miss you guys. I'm going to try to make a round of the blogs this week and see what everyone's been up to before I jump back into the squirrel hole again.
In the meantime, here's a small... something (not sure if this is a piece of something larger, or it's own thing right now, but it's self-contained, and it felt good to write; to be writing.)
I sit on my roof and become an animal once more, embracing senses and instincts part of us humans since we began. The yellowing sky is heavy with ozone and the wind is thick with potential; my little paper bag of nails threatens to ride the asphalt ski jump.
Even the trees sound different, as the wind whips through hundreds and thousands of leaves; every edge curled upward, thirsting for what’s to come.
My pocket rings. The pop music ringtone is discordant blasphemous noise against the overture that surrounds me. Practice is over. Time to go.
The old gutter, patched liberally with duct tape, threatens to give way and buckle beneath my weight as I descend. I smell metal beneath my hands, and metal in the air.
A crack opens in the sky, filling the world with light. A moment later, the reverberating crash is heavy enough to shake the ladder. Echoes of thunder roll away, making the gathering clouds growl.
I am all purpose now, and dash to my car. In the sky, there is only the faintest sliver of yellow now. Twilight has come at noon. In my haste, I forget to get lost in the side streets, and I get to my wife and daughter just in time.
The car doors close, and the sky pours itself out on us. It’s too heavy to drive. We sit, and we watch.
In the back of my mind, understanding blooms, and I’m a little afraid. Water enough to fill a stream is coming down around us. The insistent beat slows enough to get moving. We pass steadily growing puddles with little floating islands of detritus, soon to be washed away.
We could be washed away. Nature doesn’t need us.
I reach around the seat and squeeze my daughter’s calf. She giggles.
“Why’d you do that Daddy?”
“Just making sure you’re there – you’re so quiet.”
“I was just watching the rain. There’s lots.”
“Yeah,” I reply, looking at my wife. Her gaze is fixed outside the window too.
“What if it never stops?” asks Julie from the back.
Her tone is the same as if she’d asked “Why is that dog brown?” So I answer, “Don’t worry, honey, it’ll be over soon.”
Looking back at the road, I hope to hell I’m right.