Tuesday, March 31, 2009

rain and bird and iPod

This morning was qualitatively different for me, somehow. Even though it was raining snowballs at 9am, and "slushing" the rest of the time; even though the sky was a silvery-gray and the wind damp and cold; I had the iPod going as I walked up to the bus stop and truly everything felt okay. Is this just an iPpod story? Dunno.

I listened to the Wiseguys and Mono and Happy Mondays; Technotronic and BT and Black Box and Bjork (running my puny 800 songs on shuffle.)

At the shelter on the parkway, I watched as a seagull hovered and wheeled and balanced over the wet intersection. He must have spotted a scrap of something, tantalizing garbage beneath the wheels of cars that hissed along the pavement. He moved his wings just a twitch now and again, only the occasional wingbeat; the planet almost seemed to spin beneath him, and he merely motionless as we tumbled around the axis of him up there, pearlescent bird beneath a cotton wool sky.

I'm still wearing my long black coat. I didn't bother with an umbrella, when the rain seems on the verge of snow, and the wind so gusty that an umbrella is impossible. My son has a new umbrella that he got at the zoo on Saturday; rainbow colors, with a tiger's head for a handle. He has carefully practiced opening and closing, opening and closing like a giant flowerin search of sun. And then, he quietly pried the plastic caps off each of the umbrellas ribs, exposing sharp points, and asked me politely if I would remove "the tent" altogether. So we talked about whether that was a good idea. He walked to the car with his father and the umbrella this morning, a boy satisfied with a new tool.

Everyone on the bus looked beautiful. It's the light, I think.

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