I'm writing this at 9:08am on Friday. Pale, yellow sunlight is washing through my translucent curtains. The morning is a quiet one. All the cars have gone; no puttering to be heard. All the people are away; no chatter to be heard. There's a mild wind flickering the shade and the fan is whirring dully in the corner. I'm sweating slightly, although it's only 63 degrees. My body is acclaimated to the winter still. It's been a weird winter, cold but never too cold. It rained more than it snowed and I prefer the rain, myself. My father once commented that he liked the snow because it purified the world. I think of the snow on the sides of the road, scummy and black. It doesn't seem all that pure to me. I like the rain for the same reason my father likes the snow. I like smell after a good, hard rain. I like the drama of rain when it's good and hard. Thunder. Thunder. Lightening cracking across the sky as the rain puttered and sprayed.
When I take the family dog out, I wonder how he sees the world beyond our front door. Victor, our dog, is very much an indoor dog and we have suspicions that he's afraid of the dark. He definitely hates the rain and is miserable in the snow. I wonder if he makes the connection that they are all the same world or is he surprised, thinking that our front door is somehow magical. Were a human to open the door, snow. Open it again, rain. Again, bright sunlight. Yet again, bleak darkness. You can see him tense up and slow when he realizes that he'd been led into the dark world. I wonder if he wished we would finally let him check out a dead squirrel world, a bouncing tennis ball world, a too-slow cat world. I would if I could, Vic-vic.
I've purchased Zoo City by Lauren Beukes listening to Horns By Joe Hill. All my thought on today.
Matthew H. Jones
March 23, 2012 Lowell, Ma
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