Rain came in a light mist. So soft and spacious in the air you could not feel it. It was only after twenty minutes that you would discover that you were soaked along the front of your dress. The ground glossed on the asphalt. The red brick became slick. Hit it laterally and dress shoes would slip. The clatter of hard soled shoes were softened today because of it. It was quieter on the strip on the way to the station.
The air did not smell differently. I wanted the ionized smell. I longed for it. It had been much too dry in my area, the driest in some time. But there was no special smell. The town sat along the bay, the air was just infused with the same water as the sea. There was a sulfur smell. It couldn't be helped: there was standing water in some areas that would only take extraordinary circumstances to dissipate.
In fact, the aqueduct that ran along the tract of houses would be home to a few ducks and a two koi. The water was stagnant, rancid. The 'soil' at its bottom was sludge more than dirt. It had the consistency of oil. If left to air, most of it would evaporate.
This is an ancient land, as all are. The history runs in hundreds of years. Some of it restaurants, its homes, run in centuries, not weeks.
Their wood speaks, it must. It has been touched by millions of hands, breathed upon, walked along, unsparingly cleaned. A fastidious people.
But. What of the water? Why is it neglected? Why is the same care of the tangible unapplied to its water? Water is the absolute source of life. It should be clear, refined. What would the ancients say?
Take your hands and run it through
Make it clear, let it glean
Through your fingers, in your palms let it rest
Moisten the Earth, let the seeds drink
Her body should run through it
Her pale skin sending echoes in her wake
Her hair, glistening like black pearl
The crane watches
Unafraid
No comments:
Post a Comment