weather diagnosis: paranoid schizophrenic

April 29, 2009

rainy laughter

I set out in sun to walk to the post office.

Half way down an alley lined with dumpsters, the wind whips through and the sky quickly closes its eyes to light. Garbage goes up into everywhere.

I start racing the rain to the post office while wind holds my hair out of my face and lets me experiment with leaning forward without the risk to fall.

The rain wins. It starts to brush me lightly like a hesitant painter on a pressingly white canvas. Then it has a couple drinks and lets loose. Warm water streams and I run.

And I laugh. There are guidelines for how and why we should quickly end our encounter with wet. I break them. I wish the people I pass would throw down their umbrellas and understand.

Images flash of other moments like these where my legs pound quickly across ground, my body gets clothed in water, and my laughter rings loud like song—each run in the rain so vividly alive.

While I run and cling to those images I reside inside subtle contentment until the sky runs out of water. I play no role, have no definition.

I become just laughter with water dripping down its face and arms.

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