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 Bayonne
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.
No comments:
Post a Comment