How unprepared for happiness. The sun scorches and the sweat seeps out confused and bewildered. Aimless unspecified moments are squandered, wondering how to cope, how to reduce the anxiety, how to quench the pain we feel, while outwardly smiling and saying, “Oh! Sun, how glad we are to see you!” Hypocrites. Used to the idea that the greyish swath of permanent moistness was the cause of our grief, we reconciled ourselves to the frequent naps and the slow, sobbing pace of utter blankness. In these days of spring when we have been trained by cultures worldwide to look for love and rebirth and find instead an indifferent, just long enough to be registered glance, of the one we hope, had hoped, will love us. It was not rejection, so, stupidly we stumble forward, somehow measuring false logic with hormones and fantasy.
Our soaking shoes and rain gear hang drying again, indelibly stained with the sour odor of nervous sweat and the never drying mist of despair. They do their job, as best they can under our care. Today they are forgotten; the glare of the sun and unrecognizable heat have distracted us from our methodical ways – the patterns we have fallen into that saved us from the next unrelentingly bland and inconsolably same day. Rain, Showers, Drizzle, Fog, Downpour, Light, Heavy, Spit, Sprinkle, Hail, Torrent, Mist, Haze, Vapor, Miasma, Murkiness, Daze …Stupor, or just wet suspended in the air everywhere, siphoning sun rays into the atmosphere. While our clothes fade and turn into worlds of their own universal nature; lives and stories we cannot even imagine anymore contained in the fibers, deep in the primordial niches of the fabric.
The flood gates open and we run, screaming, for the mountains. We are vaguely aware of the humans we used to be. The creatures we have become can only find solace in the isolation of nature, where we hope to dry our bones, rejuvenate our skin and burn off the foreign life that has invaded the crannies of our minds, skin and conciousness.
