Monday, July 09, 2001
Walking To Work
~
It was that kind of morning. The kind neither sunglasses nor raincoats can quell. There was something peculiar about a grey sky, menacing, buy not entirely daunting, just there. Sword-like. Damoclean. I liked the way droplets fell on trees, onto leaves, down stems onto trunks, percolating, meshing. People weren't like rain. People's eyes always stared at the ground on days like this; I guess the leaf-imprinted, paper-mache, salami-like sidewalk was substitute enough for the grey skies. Or was it my eyes they sought to avoid? My grin? My truth?
S*
2001.07.10
It was that kind of morning. The kind neither sunglasses nor raincoats can quell. There was something peculiar about a grey sky, menacing, buy not entirely daunting, just there. Sword-like. Damoclean. I liked the way droplets fell on trees, onto leaves, down stems onto trunks, percolating, meshing. People weren't like rain. People's eyes always stared at the ground on days like this; I guess the leaf-imprinted, paper-mache, salami-like sidewalk was substitute enough for the grey skies. Or was it my eyes they sought to avoid? My grin? My truth?
S*
2001.07.10
