It is 60 degrees out and has been raining steadily all day. Flash flood warnings. I lay on the bed in the cabin after work and watch the rain fall on the leaves outside the window. I get up and dress. Jeans, chambray shirt, rain jacket, fishing boots, umbrella. I am almost immediately soaked despite all this. Feeling listless.
I tromp though the rivers running over the sidewalk. Pass a middle aged man standing barefoot in his manicured lawn staring at a second story window into which sheets of water are clearly streaming. Another few blocks. A brother and sister (6 and 9?) have abandoned their umbrellas in the yard and are splashing the hell out of one another, jumping in puddles. Laughing maniacally. They see me and stop. I raise an eyebrow, stomp, drench them both. Shrieks and giggles.
What am I doing????
I cut down 4 blocks to a park. Stare at a sign baring Majesty’s name. For a second I contemplate vandalizing it. Think of his mother. Frown. Continue.
((I took my class to a wildlife park this week. We looked it up online before we went and saw a few of the animals we would be meeting. On the tour I kept asking N (who is 3) if he was having fun. “Wanna see bears.”. “Do you see the elk? Look at those antlers!” “Wanna see bears.” “N, it’s a mountain lion!” “Wanna see bears.” we finally got to the bears and he stared silently. We got back on the tour bus and I asked him what he thought of them. He nodded very seriously for a moment then said “Yep. Lunch.”))
I pull up the hood on my rain jacket and ditch the umbrella in a bush at the beginning of the trail to be retrieved later. The small creek is swollen and flowing rapidly. At a few points it has swallowed the trail. I walk through the grass in one of these spots, ankle deep and getting deeper, until my toes are over the ledge where the creek would normally begin to flow. The water is frothy and dark around my shins. I want to lay down and float. (“We all float here”). I briskly walk the loop that is the rest of the park trying not to think of homicidal clown creatures living in the sewer.
When I was younger I felt like some kind of pre-raphaelite Cecilia Lisbon. Like Ophelia camping out in a tee-pee in her parents suburban back yard. I felt like magic. Now what am I?
It is dark out now. Savages calls, I’ve been gone a long time. Sometimes I get lonely for loneliness. I psspssshpsss at all of the pretty cats sitting on the pretty porches of the pretty houses. I look in the windows of the brightly lit living rooms at people watching tv, reading. Old men on old computers with monolithic CRT monitors. I stand in the bathroom of the cabin. I strip off the soaked clothes. I crawl under the covers.
((((Hey Casbanites and Casbanians. When I finished this it read like a diary entry so I went back and took out a few too personal lines. I didn’t want to heavily edit the rest so I just left it intact. I apologize for any weird disjointed-ness as a result. Peace, love, and all that bullshit. -Mother))))