"Let The Rain Come Down, Down"

Today I watched Summer officially leave the city of New York--it didn't go without a fight, though. This morning was hot. I mean "sweating-with-every-movement-I-made" hot. It's still a wonder how I got dressed, tidied up, and walked 10 blocks to the train without appearing as if I had just spent an hour or two at the gym. By the time I got to work, though, I had forgiven the sun for how horribly it had treated me, and the cool, air-conditioned office gave me more than enough reason to smile.

As I had done yesterday, I decided to leave the building during my lunch hour. This was much to the surprise of my c0-workers who regularly enjoy the fully-catered--and FREE--cuisine that is available to employees daily. I, however, didn't have time for eating food, as I was all set to take another bite into the reading material that I've been devouring for the past two weeks. Anne Lamott's Traveling Mercies: Some Stories On Faith has been instrumental in dealing with the whirlwind of moving 3,000 miles away from family and friends, but I digress.

As I headed for Borders, I noticed that the sun had all but disappeared. It was so drastic and sudden. I felt like a parent who tells their kid to shut up, then feels bad when the child refuses to speak for the rest of the day. It was brisk, nearly cold, and an increasing number of people walked the sidewalks of Park Avenue with umbrellas at the ready.

Things got back to normal as day transitioned into evening, but I'm no Fritz Coleman, so what was coming was a complete shock to me.

I headed to the gym after work, then to the train for home, and in the short distance from 16th to 135th St. (it sounds like a marathon, but it's actually no more than 10-15 miles), God set his tear ducts to full blast and reminded us all who was in charge. At this point I've just come from the gym during what was shaping up to be a real scorcher of a week, so I've got on shorts and a t-shirt.

Nice.

I exited the subway station and walked the three avenue blocks (if you don't know, the avenue blocks are twice the size of normal street blocks...more unpleasant than you might think) with the most stoic and unaffected expression I could muster. Outside I was solid and unshakeable, but inside I was a hissing kitten. I didn't run, though. I braved this rattling shower with all the resolve of Ghost Dog. I secretly enjoyed it, too. I thought of the drops as weird and transfiguring--healing and cleansing and allowing me to be wide open to become my latest self.

Tomorrow I'll check the weather report before I leave.

Currently listening: "Yesterday" by The Sylvers

Peace