It rained. Rained and rained until the streets flowed like rivers and the trees bowed like paupers to the king. The trails lost their footing and rocks slid down the path to find a new resting place until the next big gush. I didn't think much about it; so isolated under my big red roof in this muggy adobe house. The white stucco walls keep the solidified wetness out and I am just left with the pitter patter and the sensation of moisture upon my ears and on my skin. But I really notice what has happened when I hit the hills. Nothing is the same on the same old path...no leaf left unmoved and not bird left unsung. It's still so dark from the passing storm that the crickets chirp in confusion and the frogs croak at noon. Just like my taste buds, my nose is drawn to life by the pure dampness of my surroundings. Eucalyptus, fir, lavendar, blossoms, dirt, earth, balsam and vetivere all rush inside me. A prick on my side lets me know I am alive and the bee stuck in my skin reminds me of the passing summer. It's gone. Summer, sunshine, and that chunk of life I tossed to the wind. The skin on my ribs begins to swell in response to the venom and I feel warm. Rain, warmth, and the opposing cold. I feel asleep in this weird other world. Everything looks the same but nothing is...only I am the same. Constant, walking, always trying to change but never really feeling the rain. It's time to flow, move. Even if the pace is a trickle...just like the droplets on my window. They may go ever so slow but at least the get somewhere. Rain on me.
Moving again. Not sure when or where. Just know it is going to happen soon. Will I ever stop? Probably not!
Written 2009 -A Wilson
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