Thursday, September 19, 2013

of nestorian hot-dogs

So come on let me in, I will be the sun

A portrait of a Thursday in a thunderstorm.

One of my favorite things in the entire world is an inter-department delivery envelope.
The little mailing-paper-orange envelope holds an entire story so obviously on its cover.
You see that it went from the science building to the business school, then found its way into the high courts of the administration building, and it fell into the quiet lap of the mathematics library's administrative assistant before it arrives in the workspace's pigeon-holes.
You wonder what missives this envelope held; what stories this little paper Mercury flew from person to person.
And how interesting that there is such a palpable, tangible link between people who would otherwise be completely unrelated.
If I could wish one inanimate object into sentience, it would be an inter-department delivery envelope.
I would ask him to tell me of his travels, and he would gladly acquiesce.

The rain is pounding on the skylight. 
I am very thankful for my skylight.
Instead of nasty florescent lights, I work under a canopy of sky.
Usually it's sheer blue.
Very blue, a color that late summer September sky tends towards regularly.
And occasionally, if I look up from homework or emails or articles about how the world is falling apart, or satire about the latest health food, or depressing news bulletins, or the latest blogging quibble about the degeneracy of Popular Music These Days, I'll see little fluffs or streams or puffs or regiments of clouds float across the cerulean canopy.
Today, the skylight is the morose color of a thunderstorm.
It is a dusky blue-grey.
A very stormy color--the color of Westley's eyes.
Surges of rain rise with the hollow swooping of the wind, and they pound on the skylight, creating a satisfying soundtrack of nature beating down upon you.
I felt so safe in my artificial palace.
I was so close to the storm.
I saw the rain fall above me, I could see it streaming down the glass, there was so much rain in the atmosphere, the smell of rain pervaded my fortress of stable climate.
But I didn't feel a drop.
The dull crack of thunder and the scattered flashes of lightening did not set my heart a-quaking.
Under my skylight roof, I wasn't a part of the glorious storm outside. I was safely removed from the wild outbursts of Nature.
My office-appropriate high heels and demented little laptop thanked me for that.
Their obsequious gratitude rankled the crazy little wanderlusting nomad in my heart.

I took off my office-appropriate high heels, and my bare toes tingled as they felt fresh, slick stage paint slide under them.
They started sweating, they got so nervous they wouldn't find a foothold on this smooth surface, stretching like an ice rink over the safe, rough luan floor of the black box.
And I danced on the kaleidoscope globe.

Then, we went out to stand in the street and watch the violescent sky filled with the giant orange lunar orb, shining with its mystical light, floating above the dark jungle tree tops.
We stood there until the cars chased us away.
But we never stopped looking at the moon.

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