In between storms
Showers and thunderstorms likely. Some storms could be severe, with large hail, hail, damaging winds, gusty winds, and heavy rain. - National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration.
There is a very large, very dark cloud overhead, and intermittent dashes of rain against the street below. The fan is bringing in the smell of ozone and wet pavement.
Forty minutes ago I was sailing along on my track bike, my bag loaded down with groceries, having ridden most of the way through southern Brooklyn with one of the famous boys.
It was a lovely ride, though there were giant crackling thunderclaps now and again, even in a sunnier sky when we set out, and the air seemed just about to burst into giant drops the whole way back. I arrived home, carried bike and a zillion pounds of dried fruit and peanut butter and hummus and assorted necessities and a bar of dark chocolate and so on upstairs, put it all away, and looked outside to see the rain pelting pelting down. As if it had been waiting for me to get everything done first.
So nice of it. Thank you Rain.
It's been an unexpectedly beautiful day, the kind that surprises me. All weekend I've been up and down and all around about how I feel about this boy, and I have no answer, which might be a problem in and of itself. And yet, every time I go to tell him, "well, this is wrong and that is wrong, and I can't do this," I end up not saying anything. I end up falling right into his little slim arms again, and I don't know what to do about it, because I like it.
I can't seem to logic myself into a more straightforward situation with him, or with the world in general. And I don't know why I expect it of myself, anymore, since I've never been a very good Vulcan. I'm a creature of strong feelings, and perhaps happiest when I relax into that instead of fighting myself. It can make for some strained moments - eyes filling with tears unexpectedly in a movie theatre and then draining away just as quickly, only an instant in the dark, seen by nobody. Needing suddenly to vanish, to hop on my bike and fly home to the cat, who I know will have missed me because she always misses me, even if I'm only gone a few minutes. Needing to just hole up in the half-dark with the Tour de France, with Phil Liggett's voice, soft and erudite and familiar.
He's very tiny this boy, small and sweet and delicious, like a little tart plum. Acerbic. Fiery.
