Tuesday in the center of the month and I'm reclined across the loveseat on my terrace. The rain comes straight down from the leaden sky although the tree limbs are blown about roughly by the wind. The bellowing thunder is intermingling with the roaring traffic below in such a way as to create some kind of harmony. It soothes me while Kurt Vonnegut fills my mind with the image of a human being sneezing into soap flakes. He recently told me the meaning of life: to be the eyes and ears of the universe.
My father said a similar thing in his writing, which is much better than my own. Normally I hate the noise of the traffic below but today I enjoy existing in its thunder. Reading and reflecting and sitting in my pajamas are all very comfortable things in this setting. There are ten thousand leaves out in front of me and many more that I can't see stretching up and down the six lanes of Cuesta San Vicente. I think the trees are maples but they are much bigger than the maples I'm used to and they have spiny spheres to go with every leaf that fill the air with polleny dust on dry and windy days. At the level of my eye across from me a man in a grey shirt just jogged by in the gardens situated on the north side of el Palacio. I can feel the traffic come up the walls and through the floor and cushions of the couch. Every few minutes the traffic lights at the top and bottom of the hill coincide and the noise quiets to reveal thunder or sometimes relative silence. Sirens wail in the distance, go beneath my perspective, rush away. For a moment the rain lets up, though the sky remains grey. I imagine the giant maples are all smiling; ten thousand smiles out in front of me and many more that I can't see.
When I was a little boy, before I couldn't count my age on my hands anymore, my father told me that he would believe every word I would ever tell him. I immediately blurted out that aliens had landed on our back porch. I don't remember having lied before that without knowing why.
Sometimes I think I have a problem with things of real value.
3 comments:
That was beautiful: evocative, lyrical, somewhat melancholy. Your writing improves with every entry.
You could jump to that tree from your terrace if you had to. How's the Senora y hija?
Good to see you are still living in the moment.
As for value, something only has the value that you give it.
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