Aug. 13, 2013
The rain taps on the hood of my car like an impatient gangster using all ten fingers.
This is Tuesday, but I drive to
instead of Hoboken.
The rod is treacherous and full of impending danger, one slip or wrong turn, and the slick street sends me to my doom.
Standing still for a moment, I stared out at the drips of rain on the glass; I feel safe.
It is movement that endangers people – that first step on risky pavement, never knowing whether the ground we walk on is secure or even solid.
Some walk on clouds of illusion, of things we wish were true, but like mists these part before us before we can touch them.
On days like these, I usually seek water, real water, flowing at my feet, not some temporary arrangement of rain that dries up when I need it most.
But in a rush to get from where I was to where I need to be, I forego the water and live with the rain and the hope that I can survive the journey.
There are so many pitfalls and traps, potholes into which my spinning wheels might fall and get entangled.
We live with steering around so many of these and yet cannot avoid them all.
Sometimes we need to fall into one to know how good it feels to climb out again.
Sometimes we do not know how deep any of these re until we sink over our heads.
I drive and hope to reach the place I need to go, and when I get there, pause and let the rain flow down the windshield – happy tears for a gray day.