this spring, i swear

there's a rule that when i go outside, it rains on me. this is not a burden; i find it validating that the sky finds me worthy of receiving water. the weather forecast this morning reported no chance of precipitation, partly cloudy skies, an unseasonably brisk but not punishing spring day. sewage problems in my building drove me out to get some fresh air, so i changed into my running shoes and escaped.

clouds hung trapped over the river valley, funneled in by the wind vanguard of a pressing warm front. there are days when running can't possibly feel good; no matter what i do with my legs, arms, breath, i feel distressingly sluggish and lacking any sense that i ought to exist. my body is a vessel that i pilot half-assedly down the trail. work trucks grind up the gravel path towards me, forcing me to swerve, giving me looks as if i'm the one making poor decisions about where i've put myself.

but it rained on me, a few spits of water leaking out of those heavy, rushed clouds. i squinted up into the pale sky, the rolling tangle of confused birds and a drifting cluster of balloons that someone had released upstream. the river moves in an apparent slow-motion seethe of mud. briefly, it still smells like sewage.

i can't help but laugh. i don't want to laugh.

11 April 2018 17:31