I came home under the rain. It was pouring down heavily, like it had been since the beginning of the month. The French call that phenomenon "giboulées": one minute it's cloudy and dry, the next minute it's raining cats and dogs and windy like crazy.
So I was walking home under giboulées. I had left my umbrella on purpose, and instead dressed in a winter/ski-jacket, all water-proof and with a hood. Walking under the rain, with a shelter around me. The wind gradually soaks my jeans, which are not waterproof. I feel the cold, humid stickyness of fabric over skin on both my legs, and I start imagining a similar sensation in my feet.
I say "imagine", because there is no way my feet are already drenched; it's been raining only for a couple of minutes.
All that hugely immense mass of water, falling down from hundreds of meter in the sky just to hit my hood or my jacket and be bounced back to the concrete pavement
what a waste! except maybe for plants, that get their share of the previous liquid.
I feel strong. It's ironic that I should feel strong when confronting the force of nature, expecially considering the sides of the cloud rain, compared to my size. yet I do. maybe precisely because I live under the impression that I can fight it. water comes down and down and down from the skies, I just keep walking. tonight my injury is deep inside of me, environment cannot affect it.
Inscription à :
Publier les commentaires (Atom)
Aucun commentaire:
Enregistrer un commentaire