(no subject)
It isn't so much that I was caught by the rain, no, but more like I caught the rain itself ... and again, as it has been throughout this week, I can smell the dampness on my sleeves and feel the wet heaviness cling to my knees. Occasionally I suffer the requisite shiver or rub my pale fingers together, but these are perfunctory motions knitted to the weather and I'm far too distracted to actually make sense of this physical cold. There are things I've seen, things I've come know, and my eyes are wider than I've ever remembered them. I'm caught here in this present self, but I already have begun living in what will be. So it is I linger on fine lines incarnate as the staccato rhythm of the water drums on the windowpanes, imbibe the colors and softness, and use my imagination to set in motion the delicate picture that commands my afternoon.