Thursday, June 28, 2007
By the time the backhoe had cleared a path, the skies had established that whilst they had held the rains back from 5:00- 5:30for most of my commute home, they must needs ooze further, despite my proclaimed desire to ride with you.
I was sort of almost inspired by then, though, and even swept the cruddiest dust hares from behind a few doors, stuffed the wild metal objects into the closet and managed to close the door, and opened that Budweiser... and celebrated that, in fact, I had a reason to clean my toilet but that, in fact, nobody was going to see the other 98 layers of crud. Oscar Madison has not been exorcised... but I may get him sent to his room by the end of the weekend.
Then I hopped on the Gazelle to head over here... but the Gazelle said, "I hve no lights and you will want to ride extra on the way home!" So I went back and switched for the Xtra. It didn't say a word. It just turned South and kept going. It stopped raining. The grey skies were alive in layers and texture; the corn was singing its praises and filling its lil' cell walls with turgidity. For a moment I almost understood how visual art could communicate to the soul. Grey speaks a rich and vivid language!
Blue skies are overrated.