NEATO OR DARK BEFORE DARK

The little creek would have to wait. A storm was coming, and I wanted to get out there, have a walk, and make it home. Over dry patches we went, and some wet ones also. Rain water, sitting there in a hole in a log, and I peaked in to see that there were already little creatures that had used the water environs to sprout themselves up and swim around. We have seen ice and snow, valley and field, rainstorm and parched dry days so bright and hot and bleached out that you felt you were in some weird scene from an independent film. On our drives we have listened to classical, to other things as varied as Tom Waits, Bob Dylan, Bob Marley, AC/DC, Natalie Merchant, and even Marina and the Diamonds. But, mostly we listen to nothing, which is everything. The sound of the wind, the buzz of the bees and the patter patter of rain falling on the windshield. We listen and listen and listen some more. Sometimes they snooze, tired, spent, quietly happy, having exercised their bones and blood and minds and above all, - their spirits. Oh little creek, little river. All the water of the world. Estuary, bay, quay, inlet, lagoon. My God thunder just sounded out from the sky like nobody’s business. A gunshot, a canon shot from God. Don’t mess with God. Wow. Its dark, the rain falls again, small shards. It’s a time for dreaming and books, a moment for reflection or organization. The little creek will really have to wait. Maybe it overflows and the frogs, turtles, snakes and salamander and others have to venture out a bit. I can imagine. Possibly the fish even wonder what exactly is going on today. Well, we saw the berries and flowers, the paths and the trees and the skies and other. Just like a thousand times before. Over an actual thousand actually. But, - it’s always there, new, present, wondrous in its own way and manner. A storm was coming. We didn’t really realize until after that it was so big. We made it with a little time to spare even. We didn’t venture far. It has definitely come. Somebody calls out to another soul, - perhaps moving a chair away, or shutting a window. The extroverts will have to make do with their own thoughts, - with being thrown back to themselves a bit. The introverts, most of them, will quietly thrive. Me- I am both and more the latter at heart. Water rushes through streets and gravity and wind and the water itself somehow pushes it along down grates where it disappears into other worlds. It’s dark before dark.

Neato, as they say or used to, - Neato.


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Comments

  1. John L. WatersAugust 11, 2017 at 9:58 PM

    Brian, neato writing with a high albedo. Your light is well reflected by your writing. Thanks.

    ReplyDelete

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