Yesterday I ducked low beneath cherry blossoms, an arbor over the sidewalk like a portal into another place. The irises are beginning to bloom, the tulips exploding with the last of their strength, stamens like bits of char at the center. I even see California poppies, though we are no where near California. The sun is too hidden to be mistaken for California. Then again, my California is a southern one; smog covered, hot and burning. The ash here is of a more dangerous sort- mountain ash, volcano ash. Vancouver, Vancouver, this is it.
I battled rain and wind, after the archway of blossoms. My umbrella a sail; comedic. The gusts pushing me into laughter. What else are you supposed to do; wind torn, drenched, a black sail pointed and threatening to carry me across the street? I dissolved into gazelle laughter. Leaping.
By the time I reached my bus stop my shoes were frothing. Animal shoes, hungry for distance. A detail that reads as false but no, my shoes frothed. Sometimes the truth is entertaining enough to refuse embellishment. (There was a good reason, but I will let the reason remain hidden. I have to keep something hidden, and why not why my shoes frothed? It is a silly detail, a superflous detail. And you don’t need to know all of my reasons.)
[Again, this is taken from text written at work. Lovely day at MoF actually. Usually no better than a chair, or another placard with information sprawled on its surface, today I was a Person with Ideas and Thoughts to at least a few patrons. Maybe something was in the water, maybe it’s the spring time. Also, I need to read some more Robert Burns. After a quite pleasant conversation I find myself yearning for some words from the other side of the ocean.]