Will You Know? Or Must I Tell You?

I woke up early, drowning in the muggy mist of morning, groggily groaning my way to work. The air was heavy with the threat of rain; you could smell it everywhere quivering, waiting. It bunched up and caused pressure in my head. It felt like forever before the sky finally cracked and the pressure subsided. It felt like weeks. The sky darkened dramatically but I couldn't see the clouds from inside the bistro. I imagine they swarmed overhead ominously. The day let out slowly and I walked out of the bistro relieved, exhausted, right as the sky broke and the rain crashed down. It was a warm rain, a damp rain (like the kind you find in songs) and I walked slowly to the car, letting it slide down my sticky, sweaty face.

I drove slowly through the rain, the puddles flying up in streams and coming in through the open window. The windshield wipers ran furiously, scraping across the widow, spitting the water off the sides of the car. I came home and took a brief nap. I woke up just at sunset. The clouds had broken beautifully, layers of light clouds sitting right beneath deep, thick layers of dark rain clouds. The sun screamed out from behind them, glowing red and orange. It slowly sank, and Sunday waned.

There is something solid beneath me these days. I feel I am gaining footing. Each day of words I build, on this blog or elsewhere, is a feather in my cap. Each sentence spoken simply, slipping suddenly from my lips, is an articulation of something solid. I feel, sometimes, that this blog is too vague. That a reader might not have anything to take a hold of. That it is too personal, too emotional. If anyone reads this perhaps you can give me some advice.