of course it was raining. obviously.
walking back from the grocery store, letting the misty hydration slowly soak my hair. allowing the unnecessary sweat that comes from wearing a raincoat to be delicately washed away. feeling the tears well, compounded by the misty-eyed rain.
my grocery bag, eggs, milk, spinach, carrots, soaking.
its cloth, which is debatable in this climate...
walking up Franklin street, straining to squelch my frown. trying to keep my forehead from wrinkling... that's what i do when my heart is aching. i try to dumb the emotions down to vanity.
often. in Africa i worked specifically on my flexibility and posture.
here, in the pacific northwest, i try to maintain a wrinkle free forehead. wrinkles come with thoughts of sadness. thoughts of failure. thoughts of loss.
we tried so hard, we made it through so much. and now we are without.
walking, sensitive to the elements, the fundamental emotion of being the possessor of a broken heart, of a wounded spirit, begging for that glimmer of hope to return... or at least let me know its just napping.
suddenly, the sweet, cool vapors of misty rain mixed, collaborating with the muffling sound of the mist, with tears, was overpowered by, an odor of heat, of wet, of thick and powerful.
i looked down and barely half an inch from my right foot sits, steaming and bright, glistening and gooey, a pile of shit. fresh. hot. truly vaporous. vengeful. disgusting.
i look uphill to see that some unknowing cyclist tracked it all the way up the block.
disgusting. i, instinctively, stop crying because the inhale is making me nauseous.
i speed along, somewhat on the hunt for a dog owner that would be verbally lashed by yours truly, only to have my rage, my ache, my sadness, my loneliness, be thwarted.
the odor, still lingering and fighting for my attention and still winning, was soon to be defeated by the glorious, floating, dancing sounds of strings, of applause, of silence and again, of song.
i stumbled, lucky to be sans shit-stain, upon a concert.
the Student Orchestras of Greater Olympia pulled me, pushed me, lifted me from a nasty funk.
with the symphonic sounds escaping the cracked doors of the Baptist Church on Franklin, a smile crept across my face.
of course it was raining. obviously. but even the mist couldn't quiet the sounds of sweetness.