Like These On the Ground

Rainy morning.  A family of deer out on the front lawn scattered when I went to the mudroom to get my shoes.  I thought I’d walk my daughter to the top of the hill but she went out, felt the drizzle and insisted we drive.  At the top of the driveway I turned the car around and we waited for the bus and talked about how waiting outside for a bus in the rain, was no fun. 

This was only drizzle though.  And with my hoodie pulled up over my neck and a sense of optimism that it wouldn’t get any wore, I headed off for the trail.  Yesterday, I’d gone let to Gardiner.  Today, I went up and through New Paltz towards the old bridge that spans the Walkill a few miles out of town.  This way takes about twenty-five minutes and is usually pretty quiet. 

Rain beneath the canopy.  Beautiful wet leaves blanketing the path and the forest.  Something from the five-year-old me or the seven-year-old me, made itself accessible. Beijing is never wet.  There are never leaves like this on the ground and I lived these leaves before, when I young, when I was on a walk somewhere, maybe I didn’t want to be there but I had to look at wet leaves like these on the ground.  That adolescent is closer today than usual. And what are the Hong Kong and Beijing memories lodged that my girls have, similarly waiting to call firmly, with some change in the weather.

I pedaled along all the way to bridge.  By now it was a steady rain.  Out beyond the protection of the canopy the rain began to penetrate my clothing.  Off in the distance was a large white house.  The windows seemed blackened and I wondered if it was abandoned or if it had been damaged in a fire.  It otherwise had so much character.  Riding back "Olive Refractions" by Johnny Griffin came on which wounded lovely.  The headphones conked out for some reason and I decided to just put the phone playing aloud in the pouch of my hoodie.  So then, Johnny Griffin’s “Ruby My Dear” with my adolescent atmospherics and becoming wetter and wetter, hands numb.

Thursday 10/03/19