The rain
drizzled its way across windows and the thing most noticeable were the electric
lights. People use them, but don’t care that much about them. The regular
proletariat, say, does not despise them, - they are rather just functional. As
for the others, I don’t know or really care (they probably don’t look). But the
lights, green and orange, blue, there, waiting, so diligently, and the water
patters on them. Sometimes drops stay, and then the glow and the roundness are
like the droplets on an autumnal or summer leaf in the forest valley. Or, they
make the neon to appear even odder, more peculiar, because now the light that
is thrown has something uneven about it, but nicely uneven, non-egoic,- like a deer
with a burr, like a woman who is beautiful but does not know it,- something
like that. And what else of the night then? So many vehicles and the coyotes if
they are around maybe don’t venture far for the import of rain can sometimes
even dampen a spirit feral. We park and cut past the lines and order some
coffees, looking like just other faces in the crowd. There is a man who is
alone and he has too much gear and he stumbles but is a good sort. A woman,
sophisticated without being haughty, which is rare, - walks past twice in her
smart glasses and clothing. She is not from the top shelf, the uppermost echelons,
but just below that and yet still slightly above upper-middle-class. It’s fine.
It’s what most people aspire to whether they believe it or not. And the lights
in there, wild in their power and prowess, - glowing, fluorescent, a bit gauche
and clinical at once, - but somehow it’s okay, - it’s just the world, - and
nobody said that particular atmosphere was going to be anything inspirational.
We are far from an ocean, from the sounds of the sea and the sights of the
waves and their whitecaps. But, - we are also far from critics and arm-chair
quarterbacks, from the non-creative that try and have an opinion about
creativity and what it means. So we are well. A truck goes by out there. More
lights, - many of them, - all around the front and then the sides and top of
the cab. And speaking of cabs, we are far from cabochons and wear nothing
around our necks but the Holy Spirit and Its Grace. It is all we need (plus the
coffee), as we head back out past the good looking woman, the awkward man with
too much gear, the rest of the crowd. It is all we need as we venture through
the rain and think of the dreams that the coyote dreams as the rain hits its
den pat pat pat.
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