miniature orange tree

February 5, 2010 | Filed Under ordinary 

this morning there was rain, and last night, rain. and all afternoon and even now there is rain. the hillside rolls the rain down in near waterfalls. there is no relief, no moment for the kids to go out for more than a few minutes before reentering, cold and soggy and full of woe. so they stayed inside all day. and maybe that’s why the day took such terrible turns here and there.

tonight, the kids sleep, i stand and balance mobiles, the house is quiet, the day washed away from one yard to the street and around in a loop into the gutter and down into the creek that shouts a watery bellow in the woods across the way. i wish that the part of me that knows these long days are really just part of the short years we’ve been given, that the part inside of me that was wiser, that this part was stronger, stronger and bigger than the rest of me. instead the bumbling weak parts are just always trudging along and failing all over the place, looking no farther than the end of my nose, railing and roaring myself. it almost makes me sick and it makes me very sorry indeed.

tomorrow there should be sun, the rain holding back for a bit, or so the tv woman in the wide shouldered jacket forecasts, screens in magic and technology behind and beside her. some perspective and understanding alongside the sun would be good, too, but no one forecasts perspective in a tidy five column graph on the screen, green and gold shades of understanding fluttering across the map.

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