In for It

We’re in for a little weather blustery bullying the air, drops on the sidewalk as we hurry to the bus. Gray clouds like divers ready for the plunge line up gracefully on blue hills, or, like a pack of friendly puppies, eager and slobbering, lapping at the gate. The bus driver engages the large wipers and we push through wet streets like the Jews crossing the Red Sea, with the rushing of splashing around us. The wind and rain are loving gardeners, a kind couple with watering can and pruning shears, lifting every leaf, or idiotic, inadvertent giants and their spittle, innocent but clumsy, limp and spasmodic, like gray woolens wet and flapping on the line. I ride my bicycle five miles in it from the stop, like stepping into the shower dripping from the cuffs.

28 January 1987