Wednesday, June 30
Alex is Landing
On the whole summer days are much too much the same. Bright. Hot. I once read a piece by Mary Oliver in which she claims that weather, the word, comes from the old and ancient word for air, for breath. I imagine then, weather is when Earth breaks from her bright, hot day to speak. I love when her voice low and wispy, but at times she explodes in a thunderous rampage. At times I'm sure my day would be better without weather. Then late at night, rain begins to dance on my window. Its 3 am, but I'm awake and listening the sound of water falling out of the sky. Can you imagine such a thing? An ocean caught by floating cotton balls is making its return to land. The falling ocean will feed the grass, the lavender, ancient oaks, tomatoes and mud pies. Who dreamed up weather? Its rather an ingenious idea.