| Thursday, October 11, 2007 |
| Rain Concierto |
I walked across campus seemingly alone, a storm summoned to unleash, when a gust and thunder filled my spirit. Nature high, the splendor rolling terror, and my hands became the waves of rain, my breath a gust of warm air, and I conducted a walking improvisation. My mist coats the air and parts the grass blades, the puddled sidewalk quicksilver breaks droplets suspended among my glossy wet leather boots. Tears of raindrops slide down my face and cheeks. The excitement, the thrill of danger, the thrashing sway of trees, the weeping willow throws up it's hands, and I walk, calmly composed within, completely in control, into the air-conditioned library hall smell of old books, a calm felt refuge of knowledge and warm lamps. I see lightning flash torrent through the windows, like the barge of a ship. I am safe here, breathing, wet, and winding into words, and my world is silent. Rocking calmly into focus, watching this computer screen, the vertical window rain sliding down in rivers.
And I hit Publish Post. |
posted by David @ 12:23 PM  |
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| 3 Comments: |
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I love the metaphor of the coming storm. You have fallen in love with words, I can see it.
P.S. You convinced me to read Leaves of Grass. Heard about it for years, I guess I better check it out. See you on tomorrow?
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Have you read Wallace Stevens and Rilke too? Came over from Sunchild's page. I like her so much.
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